Dreams IV: The Brotherhood
Well, what can I say, I've discovered that I like Mulderangst and
can't get enough of it. So consider that a warning. Lots of the stuff
to go around in this one. And, to top it off, Vickie and I actually
did some research, so the herbs and home remedies in the story really
do exist. HOWEVER, please don't try them at home. We'd hate to be
responsible.
My sincere thanks to Vickie, one of my favorite fanfic authors, for
letting me write this one with her. It took us months to finish it but
it was fun getting there. Also, a big thankyouverymuch to LuvPat,
Sharon and Taura for their enthusiastic comments and applause and to
Windsinger for her comments and editorial review!
Vickie's words of wisdom: This story is part FOUR of a much longer
work that I've entitled 'Dreams'. It stands alone, but if you are
curious about how Mulder and Scully got married and pregnant, just ask
and I'll send it along. Or post it if I get enough requests.
Strong relationship warning. They are married, expecting and
househunting.
Esther again, sorry. I don't want to scare those of you off that think
this is going to be a Fox is tortured, I'm married, expecting a baby
what am I going to do story. There really is an honest to goodness
X-File in here and not a lot of time for romance!
Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Walter Skinner belong to Chris
Carter, 1013 Productions, Fox Television, et al. No infringement is
intended. We love the show and are just borrowing the characters for a
little mayhem.
Any distribution of this story without the authors' consent is
prohibited by law. If you would like to pass it along please let us
know and make sure our names remain attached!
We love feedback, so please send us some!!!
The Brotherhood
By Esther Walker, cenergy@earthlink.net
and Vickie Moseley,vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com
The young Cherokee warrior held on to his prey easily. The white man
was exhausted and disoriented from his long journey through the great
plains and he barely put up a struggle when the Native American
confronted him.
As the two rode into the village loud chanting, almost cheering,
erupted from every man, woman and child present. The white man
squinted his eyes against the sun in a weak attempt to get his
bearings and assess his surroundings. Where the hell was he and how
the hell did he get here?
The young warrior stopped his horse and got off. He surveyed the area
slowly, a mixture of pride and determination etched on his lean,
muscular face. He raised his hand and waited for the crowd that had
gathered to settle down before speaking. When he did, he spoke in his
native tongue, leaving the white man to stare at the crowd in search
of an explanation.
None were forthcoming, although he noted grimly that several of the
women in the crowd were spiriting away the children from the scene,
much to the little ones' dismay.
Before he had a chance to dwell on this he was brusquely pulled off
his horse by another Cherokee, slightly bigger and taller than his
original captor. He landed hard on his hands and knees and had no time
to recover before being dragged to a wide, wooden stake that stuck
about six feet straight out of the ground. His two captors held him up
swiftly and in no time at all had his hands and feet tied to the
wooden stake.
The ritual that followed took all of 20 minutes, but for the white
man, a trespasser on holy land, it quickly became a blur of
unimaginable proportions.
The tribe was chanting again, a mesmerizing drone of rhythmic
interplay that became the momentum for the drama that was unfolding
before his very own eyes. Two young squaws approached him and, without
saying a word, tore open his shirt. He could only stare as their
nubile fingers wove brightly colored pigments into ageless mystical
patterns across his chest. The work was done entirely with their hands
and the paint felt cold on the white man's chest.
When they were done, the squaws moved aside and the tribe cheered,
marveling at their artistry.
The women joined the crowd and four young male warriors, dressed in
full battle regalia, joined the white man at the stake. Without
hesitation, they began chanting and performing a ritual dance that
made them circle their prisoner at a frantic pace.
The chanting from the crowd grew deafening and was soon mixed in with
the chanting of the four warriors.
The white man could no longer tell what was coming from where. Which
is why, when the chanting suddenly stopped, he didn't notice the four
warriors standing on either side of him, or that his original captor
was standing directly in front of him, a mere 10 feet away.
When he realized what was happening, the arrow had already pierced his
chest.
**************
Jeremiah Miller woke up screaming. The pain in his chest was
unbearable and the fear in his eyes was undeniable.
His wife of 30 years, Dixie, was by his side, asking him questions he
couldn't hear. Jeremiah grabbed his chest and glanced around the room
they had called their own for the last six weeks.
Was it really just a dream...? His last thought fell into oblivion as
the pain in his chest intensified and he could no longer remain
conscious.
****************
It took Dixie Miller nearly 20 minutes to convince John Jacobs, the
leader of the Yeomen Brotherhood, to call for an ambulance. And even
then, he agreed only on the condition that Jeremiah go to the hospital
alone. Dixie agreed reluctantly, knowing in her heart that she would
never see her husband alive again.
Dixie moved to John's side and searched for a pulse. It was weak, but
it was still there. She barely heard John barking orders at the FBI
agents outside the compound. She was lost in thought, stroking
Jeremiah's hair, his chest, holding his hand. Her life with Jeremiah,
the only man she had ever been with, had ever loved, was flashing
before her.
He was a good, hard-working, honest man, her husband. The two of them,
like the rest of the Yeomen, didn't believe in the federal government,
but that didn't mean they weren't good people.
Dixie looked around her tiny room and wondered, not for the first
time, how she and Jeremiah had gotten mixed up in such a fiasco. They
had worked hard all their lives, never bothered anyone. Never cheated
or hurt anyone. Live and let live had been their motto.
And yet, here they were. Caught in the middle of a stand-off with the
FBI that was getting more out of hand with every passing day.
She had warned Jeremiah about John Jacobs. She had never trusted him
and she knew that deep down Jeremiah didn't either. But the federal
government was starting to ask too many questions, coming around a
little too often. Things had started to get bleak and John seemed to
have all the answers. A very charismatic man, John could sell ice to
the Eskimos, it had been very easy for both of them to follow him to
the compound. Even if they didn't trust him, his promises of a better
future, his assurance of their freedom, because, after all, they were
doing the right thing, had convinced them he was their only hope.
At first they felt like they had done the right thing. John vindicated
their beliefs like no one ever had. They felt like integral members of
the team, secure in their convictions.
It was only two weeks after coming to the compound, two weeks after
John had barricaded them all from the outside world, that they began
to notice inconsistencies in John's personality and behavior. He had
always suffered from irrational mood swings, but suddenly, they were
vicious and unprecedented. He could be downright mean, with no
justification. The situation was exacerbated by bouts of heavy
drinking, something most Yeomen were loathe to accept. Much less
admire.
John was smart enough to know this and during his bouts of drunkenness
was particularly vicious and rude, making it impossible for anyone to
comment, much less criticize, his intoxication.
She and Jeremiah had decided almost two weeks ago that they had to
leave the compound, but so far it had proven impossible. Jeremiah had
been having nightmares that were leaving him drenched in sweat and
shaking. He never wanted to talk about them, either when he woke from
them or in the morning. He bacame quiet and reclusive, and Dixie had
noticed he was practically fearful of his own shadow. Whatever the
nightmares had been about, they had altered the man she had loved
almost beyond her own recognition.
But it wasn't just Jeremiah who was jumpy and ill at ease. It seemed
that everyone in the compound was suffering from some form of stress
or anxiety.
Dixie closed her eyes and thought back to the first few days at the
compound. Everyone was so cheerful and friendly. Comfortable in the
belief that they were doing the right thing. It wasn't until about two
weeks after they had gotten there, around the same time old man Parker
died in his sleep, that things started to change. She had noticed a
change almost immediately following Parker's burial within the
compound's walls. At the time, she had attributed it to the somber
mood a memorial service tends to instill. But now she realized it was
more than that. Something changed that afternoon. She could feel it in
the air. Just like she could feel her husband's life slipping away
from her.
She heard John's voice again, this time a little louder. "Put your
hands up and keep them up," he said.
Dixie left Jeremiah's side to see what was happening. A young
paramedic, with a look of sheer terror on his face, was being frisked
by John himself. Two of John's goonies, Bob and Henry, had their guns
cocked and leveled at the young man. Before allowing him inside John
searched the stretcher the paramedic had brought with him. Satisfied,
John led him to Jeremiah's room.
Dixie moved aside, unable to take her eyes off of her husband.
"What happened?" asked the paramedic.
"He woke up suddenly, screaming and holding his chest." Dixie tried
hard to contain her tears, she was too angry at John to let him see
how frightened she really was.
The paramedic leaned over Jeremiah and started to feel for a pulse
before John grabbed his hand and spun him around. "The deal is," he
shouted, "you come in, take him away and do your medical know-how
stuff later."
Dixie could barely restrain herself. Her dark eyes were cold and she
took a deep breath for fear of passing out. The paramedic looked at
her apologetically before looking up to John. Although the young medic
was almost six feet tall, John Jacobs towered over him.
"I'll need some help getting him onto the stretcher," he said quietly.
"Bob, get in here." Bob, John's favorite lackey, was in the room
instantly. As far as Bob was concerned, there was nothing he wouldn't
do for his fearless leader. An orphan since the age of three, John was
the closest thing he had ever known to a father. It didn't matter that
John treated him like dirt. Bob didn't know any better. John was the
first person that ever acknowledged his existence and for this Bob
would be eternally grateful.
John didn't wait for Bob to speak, this whole mess with Jeremiah had
already taken too much of his time. "I need you to help this medic
here get old Jeremiah onto that stretcher, pronto."
Bob nodded and looked to the paramedic for instructions. The paramedic
was eager to get out of there too and gave his instructions quickly.
Jeremiah was a big man and it took quite a bit of effort, mostly on
Bob's part, to lift him onto the stretcher.
The paramedic strapped in Jeremiah and hurried him out of the room.
Dixie followed closely, stopping the young man at the door to look at
her husband one last time. She took his hand and managed to whisper
something in his ear before John pulled her back.
"That's enough," he bellowed. "Get him out of here."
The paramedic did as he was told, relieved when the door to the
compound closed behind him.
Dixie Miller refused to look at John Jacobs. The contempt she was
feeling would do her no good. She had already lost Jeremiah and if she
wasn't careful, she would lose herself very soon. At the moment, she
could only hope for such an outcome.
***************
Sawyer County Medical Center
4:30 A.M.
Jeremiah Miller was precariously close to death when he arrived at the
hospital. The paramedics had put him on IV's and oxygen before leaving
the grounds of the compound, but his vitals were looking pretty grim.
Since Jacobs had allowed the paramedic to ask few questions, the
hospital staff had little to go on. The lead doctor on duty assumed
Jeremiah had suffered a heart attack, but ordered chest x-rays to rule
out any other possibilities. They were pumping nitroglycerin into him
when the x-ray technician came running into the ER.
"You're not going to believe this..." The young man was out of breath.
He had just run down four flights of stairs and was waving the x-rays
wildly about the room.
"Here, give those to me." The head nurse took the x-rays from him and
quickly placed them on the light table above the counter. "Oh my God."
The nurse put her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with disbelief.
Everyone in the room turned to face the x-rays and everyone reacted in
the same manner.
Jeremiah's x-ray showed the end of an arrow, at least four inches in
length, right through his chest, a fraction of an inch from his heart.
So shocked were the doctors and technicians in the room that it took
them a moment to realize Jeremiah had flatlined. And although they
tried to revive him, they knew all along it was a futile attempt.
End chapter one
From cenergy@earthlink.net Thu Oct 24 23:15:39 1996
The Brotherhood
Chapter Two
By Vickie Moseley, vmoseley@fgi.net
and Esther Walker, cenergy@earthlink.net
FBI Headquarters
Monday
8:45 am
Dana Scully sat with her glasses on, pouring over the
newspaper open on her desk. Already the page was colored
with five or six large neon yellow circles and from the
highlighter poised in her hand, it was going to receive a few
more.
Her partner entered, carrying two mugs of coffee and set
one down on her desk. "You can't possibly think we are going
to have time to look at *all* those places on our lunch hour,
Scully," he grumbled. "Good grief, that one's out in Garrett
Park! Why, by the time we get there, we'll have to come
back."
"I'll narrow the field in a minute. Right now, I'm just
looking at what is in our price range and the number of rooms
we're looking for," she explained patiently. "Of course, we
could just continue to live at my place and the baby could
sleep in our room until college," she smiled sweetly.
"You aren't funny when you're house hunting, Scully. You
know that, don't you?" he shot back. "But could you at least
give me the *front* part of the paper. I didn't get a chance to
look at it yet."
She shuffled the paper and handed him the section he
wanted. "If you had gotten up when I did. . ."
". . .I would have had to wait for the shower, anyway," he
finished and settled down at his own desk. "Oh, that reminds
me. . ."
"Two and a half baths, minimum. Yes, I remember," she
said, not bothering to look up. He started to say something
else and she raised her hand to stop him. "*And* two closets
in the master bedroom. You know, the only places that meet
your qualifications are pretty far out. I thought you wanted a
close commute."
"Don't tell me there aren't any places in Georgetown that
have two and half bathrooms and decent closet space," he said
in disbelief.
"Oh, sure, there are tons. Of course, we might have to
move into Bank Fraud--on the *other* side of the law, to
afford one of them," she chided.
They read in relative silence for a few minutes. It had been
a long weekend, spent housecleaning and sorting, combining
households. Mulder had finally decided paying rent on two
places was foolish, especially since the Bureau now officially
knew they were married. In order to avoid another month's
payment, they had to move or sell everything from his
apartment during the previous two weeks. They moved the
last box late Sunday afternoon and collapsed in exhaustion
immediately after. When Dana woke up, she realized that
getting a bigger place, with *more* closet space, was now
imperative.
Fox got up and started digging through the file cabinet.
"Scully, have you seen. . ."
"Not if *you* filed it," came the terse reply. Filing had
never been high on his list of required office procedures and
had long been a sore point between them. In the past, his
partner might have felt obligated to help him search for the
missing file, an activity she referred to as 'looking for the
needle.' But after two weeks of searching for missing items in
their own apartment while they were finding places to keep
everything, she was not feeling that helpful.
He grunted something unintelligible and continued digging.
Ten minutes later and he was still digging through drawers,
but with such abandon that he was threatening to tip them
over.
"Mulder, what the hell are you looking for?" she asked
sharply.
"A date?" he teased and his eyes were twinkling.
"Your *dating days* are over, mister," she said dryly.
"Come on, I'll help," she added with a heavy sigh. "Just tell
me what you're looking for."
"A map of Montana," he replied.
"USGS?"
"Not exactly," he murmured, rifling through a file folder.
Finally he held up some stapled pages. "This map."
Scully could not contain herself. She got up from her desk
and walked over to his. He was pulling apart the stapled
pages and laying them across what little level surface he had
on his desk.
"Mulder, there are no roads on that map," Scully noted,
looking over his shoulder.
"Yeah, I know. It's a map of Indian burial grounds. Or at
least a partial map. I got it from Albert Holstein. He has a
friend who has a friend. Anyway, I saw something in the
paper that got me curious."
"Indian burial grounds? Don't tell me we're going to go
'grave robbing', Mulder. And no, I have no intention of trying
to perform an autopsy on a 400 year old Sioux warrior," she
added for his information.
"No, I don't think that's necessary, not yet, at least," he said
absently. "I was just reading about one of those 'anti-taxation'
groups up in the mountains. Apparently, there has been a
death up there. The circumstances are suspicious, and so far,
unexplained."
"How suspicious? Maybe they're trying to cover up a
murder," Scully suggested.
"Actually, that's what they're accusing. They think the
government is bombarding the place with microwaves, and this
guy died of it," Mulder said, handing her the paper. "They
took the guy into the local hospital. He bleed to death. But
Scully, they have no idea how he received the wound."
"A knife fight over the last Bud Light, perhaps?" Scully
said derisively, but her attention was on the newspaper article.
"According to this, the county Medical Examiner has the death
listed as 'accidental'? Maybe he fell on a hunting knife." She
handed the paper back to Mulder. "Of course, you don't think
it was accidental," she said taunting him.
"Well, Scully, if you read a little farther you'll see that the
ME also reports that the man died of 'extreme blood loss with
no corresponding entry wound'. The man bled to death from
inside, Scully." He smiled at her expression of disbelief.
he thought.
"Mulder, that could have been from an aneurism. They
aren't restricted to the brain, you know," she said, turning back
to her part of the paper.
"Yeah, I know that, but according to this map, there are
several burial grounds in that area of Montana" he continued.
"It's possible this group stumbled on top of something that
should have been left undisturbed."
"And you think the ghosts of Indian braves are giving
people aneurisms? Keep this up and you'll give *me* an
aneurism! Even so, I don't think Skinner is going to agree. . ."
She was interrupted by the phone ringing.
"Mulder," he said into the phone and as he listened he
looked over at her and wiggled his eyebrows. "We'll be right
up," he said, hanging up the phone. "Well, my love, we get to
have that question answered in person. Our presence is
requested." He grabbed his jacket and pulled it on as she
headed out the doorway ahead of him.
The Assistant Director was ready to see them when they
arrived and his assistant ushered them into the office. "Have a
seat," Walter Skinner directed them toward the only two
chairs near his desk. He was holding a file folder and flipping
through the pages. "I assume you are familiar with the
'Yeoman Brotherhood'?" he asked, not looking up.
A knowing grin spread across Mulder's face. "I was just
familiarizing myself with their latest claims when we got your
call, sir." He glanced over at Scully and smiled even wider at
the slow shaking of her head. he thought to himself.
"Well, as you know then, the situation is growing more
tense every day. The latest incident, this death of one of the
men, has really put a strain on the negotiations. The
Brotherhood are convinced the man, Jeremiah Miller, died of
wounds he received at the hands of one of the agents. Of
course, that is completely unsubstantiated."
"Sir, do we have a copy of the autopsy?" Scully asked.
"We do, Agent Scully and that poses a particular problem.
I know that the media has widely quoted the coroner's office
as saying that the death was accidental. It's a little more
complicated than that." Skinner handed Scully the file from
his desk. She sat in silence, reading until she hit one line that
was highlighted.
"That's impossible!" she exclaimed.
"Now, where have we heard *that* before?" Mulder
muttered with a grin. Then, louder, he asked "What is it,
Dana?"
Skinner flashed him a glare. It was the first time he had
ever known Mulder to call his partner by anything other than
her last name. he mused. The AD wasn't sure about
the arrangements he had made and this would be the first real
test. He was putting his own 'hind quarters' on the line by
allowing the two agents to remain acting as partners after they
married. All of the Bureau hierarchy was breathing down his
neck. Hopefully this case wouldn't be too hot to handle for
them.
"Mulder, on the x ray they found an *arrow* in the guy's
heart! Imbedded there. It caused the massive blood loss, of
course." She was talking while she was reading. "But then,
upon further examination of the body, there was nothing there.
It was like it was a 'ghost' or something," she muttered, more
to herself than the two men sitting in the room with her.
"Gee, I think I might have mentioned something like this in
the office," he said with a bemused expression.
"But that was just a newspaper account and it didn't
mention the x ray. This is the actual autopsy. The arrow
showed up on X rays," Scully whispered. "But that's,"
"Impossible, yeah, you said that," Mulder replied, taking
the file from her and reading through it himself. "So, I take it
we get tickets to Montana?" he asked the Assistant Director.
"But not for the reason you suspect. You are being added
to the negotiation team, Mulder. Seems that some people
remember how you handled yourself during the Berry hostage
situation," Skinner replied and watched both faces before him
for a reaction. To their credit, both agents kept their emotions
to themselves. "They want your behavioral background, as
well. This John Jacobs character has all the earmarks of
another Jim Jones. And Agent Scully, the coroner would like
your opinion on the death. The body has not yet been buried,
they are holding it for you."
"Oh, joy," Mulder mumbled. Scully shot him one of her
Looks and shut him up. "But sir, if there is some chance. . ."
"Agent Mulder, I expect your hands will be quite full with
keeping this from turning into another 'Waco'. If you can find
the time *on your own* to investigate the 'paranormal'
aspects, by all means, be my guest. I figure that would be
sometime between 2 and 6 in the morning." It was almost
undetectable, but Scully was positive there was a gleam in
Skinner's eyes. "Now, if that's all, you are dismissed."
"Can your mom keep the mutt," Mulder asked his wife as
they headed back to the basement.
"Yeah, probably. We can drop him off on the way to the
airport. Tell you what, I'll go pick up the dry cleaning and
grab our bags now, you make the reservations," Scully was
talking and getting her purse at the same time, not bothering to
look up.
"Hey, stop a minute," he ordered. "Do you realize what
this is?"
She looked at him with great curiosity. "What?"
"This," he said, moving to her and taking her in his arms,
"is our first case as husband and wife." He kissed her
passionately on the lips.
"The operative word here is 'case', Fox. We can't mix
business with pleasure. Not on the job. That would guarantee
our separation, and you know it." She reached up and kissed
him on the nose. "So get ready to take some nice, cold
showers, big guy." She started out the door, but stopped
when she saw his disappointment. "Of course, that doesn't
mean the 'homecoming' won't be something to look forward
to," she hinted seductively.
He rewarded her effort to cheer him with a leering grin.
Somewhere over Iowa
7:30 pm
The only flight available had an hour layover in St. Louis
and the meal had been less than hoped for. The inflight movie
was 'Jumanji' and as much as Scully liked Robin Williams, it
was too close to real life for her liking. So, she decided to use
the time to catch up on the Yeoman Brotherhood while her
husband snored on her shoulder.
One thing married life had accomplished was a decided
improvement in Fox Mulder's sleep habits. He was now
known to even suggest 'going to bed early', but of course,
sleep was not the first item on the agenda. Still, even with the
'marital encounters' aside, he was averaging 7 to 8 hours of
sleep a night, a new life time high, if she believed his mother
and his own accounts. But by sleeping on the plane, she was
sure that he would be awake half the night once they arrived.
The idea of separate, but connected rooms was looking better
all the time.
Besides, she had convinced herself that if they 'needed' to
be closer, they could. The idea that they should maintain some
distance was a mutual decision, and she was going to try her
best to make sure they abided by it. she
reminded herself. She sighed, and allowed herself the luxury
of rubbing her head against his as it lay on her shoulder.
Somehow, she knew this case was going to try her patience,
on several levels.
She turned her attention back to the material on her laptray.
It appeared to Scully that the Yeomen Brotherhood had been
pushing their luck for quite some time. The more she read the
more she wondered how they had evaded law enforcement as
long as they had. Their basic claim, that the IRS and FBI were
unconstitutional, gave them the impetus to establish their own
common law government a few years back. With the strength
of their self-imposed rules, they refused to pay any taxes and
developed their own banking system. A system that, for all
intents and purposes, was not viable in the mainstream. The
Brotherhood, however, seemed to miss this minor detail and
started using their own checks and money orders all over
town. It was just a matter of time before the local merchants
started complaining and the local authorities started asking
questions. One thing led to another and suddenly the
Brotherhood was threatening to kidnap the local police chief.
Enter the FBI. The Brotherhood retreats into their
compound, deep in the woods of Montana, 30 miles from the
nearest town.
That had been four weeks ago. So far the Brotherhood had
refused every offer the FBI had presented them with and were
now going on about communicating with God.
Scully rolled her eyes. Mulder was going to love this.
Apparently, God had told the Yeomen not to leave the
compound. So now they had a direct line to God himself.
Scully closed her eyes. She thought about the dead man and
the inexplicable arrow that had shown up in his x-ray and
during the autopsy, yet with no puncture or break in the skin.
The whole thing was disconcerting. It gave her a funny feeling
in the pit of her stomach. She opened her eyes and continued
reading.
When she finished the article, the steward was announcing
their arrival. It was time to wake Fox and let the games begin.
Billings, Montana
6:45 P.M.
It was decided on the plane that they would rent two cars. Mulder
needed to get out to the compound and Scully to the Coroner's office.
The compound was 30 miles from town and Scully didn't want to be left
at the coroner's office without a car. Who knew how long Mulder would
be gone. If the situation continued the way it was going, it could be
days, if not weeks, before anything was settled. It was anyone's guess
at this point.
The two agents said their goodbyes at the rental car agency. And
although Scully tried to remain distant and professional, Mulder
couldn't resist stealing a kiss.
"Mulder..." Scully gave him a sideways glance.
"Come on Scully, just one for the road. Who knows when we'll see each
other again." Mulder was pathetically cute and annoying at the same
time and Scully couldn't help but tease.
"You've already had your quota for today, Mulder. With any luck we
won't see each other until you've racked up some more points." She put
her hand on his shoulder and softened her expression a bit. "Be
careful out there, okay? Don't do anything stupid."
"Scully..." Mulder's mock dismay disappeared when he looked into her
eyes. "I won't do anything stupid," he finally said. "I'd be stupid to
do anything stupid having you to come back to."
She gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek and headed for her rental car.
"I'll call you when I'm done," she shouted and disappeared inside her
car. Mulder smiled at the image of his wife inside the big Buick
Skylark. She was so small he couldn't see her head above the front
seat. The image made him smile all the way to his own Buick.
*********
It was dark by the time Scully found the coroner's office. Although it
was after hours, she knew they were holding the body just for her
personal assessment and she didn't think anyone would mind working
overtime. This case had come to her attention only that morning and
already she was wishing it was over. She could only imagine that the
local authorities felt the same way.
The pathologist in charge, Henry Adair, was anxiously awaiting her
arrival and greeted her at the door. "Dr. Scully, I assume?"
Scully nodded, noticing the dark circles under the man's blue eyes,
she correctly assumed this case was getting to him too. She guessed he
was about 35 years old, mainly by the Levis and workboots he was
wearing, along with the Tom Petty t-shirt. His appearance was another
matter altogether. Scully knew the look and figured he hadn't gotten a
lot of sleep, if any, in the last 24 hours.
"I'm sorry I'm late," Scully said as way of introduction. "We couldn't
get a direct flight and then I got lost on the way here."
"We?" The young coroner was only expecting one agent.
"My partner and I flew out together. He's been assigned to the
negotiation team on the Brotherhood case. He's on his way to the
compound as we speak." Scully pictured Mulder in his rental car,
listening to some God awful radio station and she suddenly missed him
terribly. She gathered her thoughts in time to hear the end of
whatever it was Dr. Adair had been saying to her.
"...it was quite a shock as you can imagine." Scully nodded absently.
Dr. Adair was leading her to the back of the building. No doubt to
Jeremiah Miller's body.
"I've read your autopsy report Dr. and I've also seen a copy of the
x-ray taken in the emergency room," Scully was looking around the tiny
room where Jeremiah's body was patiently waiting for her. "What do you
make of it, off the record?"
Dr. Adair smiled. He liked this woman. Pretty. Obviously smart or they
wouldn't have asked him to hold the body for her inspection.
Unfortunately, he thought grimly, she's wearing a very nice ring on
her left hand. She belonged to someone else. "Off the record," he
said, smiling nervously, "I have no idea what to make of it. The x-ray
showed what looks like the tip of an arrow, approximately four inches
in length. The autopsy, as you already know, revealed nothing of the
sort. However, the internal damage was such that I can think of very
few other things that might have been the culprit."
"Such as?" Scully was putting on a surgical gown and looking for those
latex gloves Mulder liked to tease her about.
"Such as a knife wound," Dr. Adair answered slowly. "But again, there
was no outside damage. No puncture wounds. I'm completely stumped on
this one. I can tell you he died of massive internal bleeding and I
can tell you it was caused by a sharp object. But beyond that..." Dr.
Adair paused and stared at Jeremiah's lifeless form before continuing.
"I can't begin to tell you what the object was, how it got in there in
the first place and, worse yet, where the hell it went." The young
doctor was obviously perplexed and a little embarrassed by his
inability to solve the riddle of Jeremiah's death. Under different
circumstances he might have resented the big shots in Washington
sending in one of their own. But in this particular case, he was
thankful. The Brotherhood had been in the news for far too long in
this part of town and he just wanted the mystery solved and out of his
hair.
Scully spent the next four hours going over the doctor's notes,
checking and rechecking every step of the autopsy. She practically
re-did the entire procedure, only to conclude that Dr. Adair had
conducted the autopsy of Jeremiah Miller entirely by the book and
extremely well. Unfortunately, the mystery remained, and in the end
she was just as perplexed as Dr. Adair.
She took off her surgical mask and turned to the doctor, who had been
sitting patiently, available to her in case she had any questions.
Scully felt a twinge of guilt when she realized the good doctor had
nodded off.
"Um...I...I'm finished," Scully said, raising her voice a little to
get his attention.
The poor man practically jumped off his seat before he remembered
where he was. The fact that he was in a room with a pretty woman and a
dead body didn't escape him and he forced himself to swallow his
smile. Just my luck, he thought to himself, I'm up late with a woman
like Dana Scully and I can't keep my eyes open.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Scully," he said with a half yawn. "It's been a long
48 hours."
"I figured as much," Scully answered sympathetically. "No need to
apologize to me. Been there. Done that."
Dr. Adair smiled in return for the sympathy. "Did you find anything?
Solve the mystery?" he asked sincerely.
"I'm afraid not," Scully replied. She had taken off her gown and was
heading to the front office. She had seen enough of Jeremiah Miller to
keep him etched in her mind for quite a while and was beginning to
find the autopsy room confining. "I found nothing you hadn't already
documented. Massive blood loss, the puncture wound inside the chest
cavity. No visible marks of any kind on the outer chest. I'm just as
dumbfounded as you." This was an X-File if ever she'd seen one and
poor Mulder wasn't there to enjoy it. To postulate his own farfetched
ideas and to drive her crazy with them.
"Well, I have to say, Dr. Scully," Dr. Adair was smiling, "on the one
hand I'm relieved I didn't miss something major, like an ancient
Blackfoot arrowhead playing hide and seek behind the guy's liver. On
the other hand, I'm sorry you didn't find anything new. This is going
to drive me crazy."
"I know what you mean," Scully answered, distracted. "Were the
Blackfoot Indians native to this part of the country?" she asked.
"Yes, they were. It was probably no more than 50-60 years ago since
their last village was eradicated. Lots of great Native American lore
comes out of the backwoods of Montana and the Blackfoot play a
predominant part in almost all of it. And the Sioux Indians too, of
course. But the Blackfoot were here first." Dr. Adair looked at Scully
curiously. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason really. Just wondering." She wasn't sure what made her ask
the question. It was a Mulder question if ever there was one.
She wrapped up the conversation with Dr. Adair and promised to come
back in the morning to compare her findings with his one more time. It
was past midnight and she still had to find a motel to check into. Dr.
Adair gave her directions to the nearest one and she was soon on her
way, wondering, not for the first time that evening, how Mulder was
getting along. She knew he would have called her if he was headed back
into town so she assumed he was pulling an all-nighter. Once settled
in her room she would try him on his cellular.
**********
Mulder's trip to the outback of Montana was pretty uneventful. Once he
was willing to admit he was lost that is, and pulled into a roadside
diner for directions. The elderly man behind the counter was more than
eager to give the tall stranger the directions he needed. "Been a lot
of stuff going on out there lately," the man ventured, half question,
half statement.
"Yep. There sure has been," Mulder answered. It was obvious the old
man wanted to talk and Mulder, he of the insatiable curiosity,
couldn't help himself and ordered a cup of coffee. "Anything new come
out of there recently?"
It was the invitation the old man needed to pull up a stool and start
talking. Unfortunately, none of what he had to say was anything that
Mulder hadn't already read or heard about. Until he got to the
Brotherhood's activities from earlier that day. Apparently, John
Jacobs' blinding accusations had become more fierce and vicious and he
was claiming a government wide conspiracy to tear him and his group
apart. He had been spouting off at the mouth for most of the day and
had sworn he would take down one federal agent for every one of his
brothers that died.
"I guess that means you better watch your back when you get there,"
the old man finished.
Mulder had already paid and was on his was out when the man's words
made him stop. "How did you know..."
"I just know," the man interrupted. "My great, great, great
grandfather was a Blackfoot healer. My grandmother used to tell me as
a boy I had his knack for knowing things. You may look like you belong
in these parts, with your jeans and big boots, but you're more out of
place here than a penguin in the springtime."
Mulder laughed at the analogy and thanked the man for the coffee. He
barely heard the old man reminding him to watch his back as the
crickety door to the diner closed behind him.
Armed with a new set of directions, Mulder made it out to the Yeomen
Brotherhood's compound in just under an hour. The last five miles were
pretty treacherous, mostly steep, dirt roads along the side of a
mountain, and Mulder was glad when he spotted the first roadblock that
signified he had found his temporary home away from home.
The agent in charge, Spencer Thornley, was actually happy to see him.
"Agent Mulder," he said, extending his hand out to him, "I'm glad
you're here. We've had a hell of a day. I'm hoping a new face will
pump up my men."
"Whatever you need me to do, Sir, I'm here to help." Mulder instantly
liked the rugged agent. He reminded him of an aging Marlboro man, with
a little less hair and a few extra pounds. "Can you fill me in on the
day's activities?" he quickly added.
Agent Thornley's account was very similar to the old man's, except for
the fact that one of the Brotherhood had snuck out two hours earlier
and shot and killed a young agent. The Brother was back in the
compound before anyone had a chance to react and Thornley had called
all his men back, in an attempt to regroup and reassess.
"An eye for an eye," Mulder said quietly. "I take it news of the dead
agent hasn't made it to the media?" Probably why the old man didn't
know about it, Mulder thought.
"No, not yet." Thornley answered. They were making their way to a
makeshift camp, about 300 yards from the compound. "It's just going to
be a matter of time, though. The media has been on this case like
vultures since Jeremiah Miller's death."
Thornley introduced Mulder to a few other men before continuing.
"Agent Mulder," he said, to no one in particular, "has a very fine
reputation in these kinds of negotiations. We're lucky the bureau
could spare him."
"Let's wait and see what you have to say when this is all over,"
Mulder mused, trying to deflect some of the uncomfortable attention
and praise.
Thornley smiled, something Mulder didn't think the man had done in
quite a while, and sat down, motioning to the younger agent to do the
same. Agent Thornley had been the agent in charge since the standoff
had started, nearly six weeks earlier, and he had done everything in
his power, and by the book, to negotiate a peaceful settlement. Now
one of his men was dead and the Brotherhood was threatening more
violence.
"If it was up to me, at this point," he was saying, "I would just tear
gas the place and wait for them to come out."
"And the reason you won't do that?" Mulder asked.
"My hands are tied, Agent Mulder. So afraid is the attorney general's
office of another Waco, remember, this is an election year, that I've
been asked to handle this case with kid gloves. Sit and wait is about
the only option they've left me."
Mulder made a face and thought about the situation. If force was out
of the question they would have to negotiate harder, offer more perks,
fewer penalties. But beyond that, he would have to get inside Jacobs'
head and figure out exactly what intangibles would appeal to and
appease the megalomaniac of the hour.
It was well past midnight when Mulder felt he had asked enough
questions and gotten enough answers regarding John Jacobs and his
'brothers'. He was about to ask another question when his cellular
rang. It was all he could do to keep from smiling. He knew it would be
Scully but, of course, he answered professionally and without a trace
of a smile. "Mulder."
"Hi, it's me."
"Hi. Where are you?" Mulder quickly glanced at Agent Thornley and
shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Thornley could feel Mulder's
hesitancy and decided to leave the young man to his personal call.
Probably the little lady checking in, he thought, and quickly excused
himself to get a cup of coffee.
"I've just checked into the Round Robin Motor Lodge."
"Hmm, sounds inviting." Mulder hadn't realized how tired he was until
he heard his wife's sleepy voice.
"So what's going on?"
"Seems like Jacobs and his 'brothers' have had a pretty busy day."
Mulder briefly told Scully everything that had happened that day and
then listened intently while she described her evening at the
coroner's office.
"I told Dr. Adair I would go back in the morning to go over a few more
things with him. But after that, I'm done. Nothing else for me to do
really." Scully was starting to yawn.
"Maybe you should fly back to Washington tomorrow afternoon then,"
Mulder said. "I don't know how long I'll be needed here. Could be a
day, could be a week. Who knows."
Scully hesitated before answering. Was he being overprotective, not
wanting her to put in long hours at the compound with him because she
was pregnant? Because she was his wife? Was he just being considerate?
Or was he too tired and busy to give it much thought one way or the
other? "We'll see, Mulder," she finally said. "I was thinking of
driving out to the compound tomorrow afternoon. I take it you're not
coming back into town tonight?"
"No," he was shaking his head. "There's some cots out here. I think
I'll just crash on one of them tonight."
"I'll miss you," Scully said seductively.
"I thought we weren't allowed any of that on this trip," he argued
meekly.
"We're not," she answered matter of factly. "But I can still pretend."
Mulder smiled. He missed her too. "Call me after you've met with the
coroner, *before* heading out here."
That was definitely not a request. More like an order. Had she not
been so tired she might have responded harshly, but instead, she took
his overprotectiveness with a grain of salt, and told herself to
discuss it with him tomorrow. When she drove out to the compound.
**********
Sometime around two a.m. Mulder found a cot to call his own. He had
spent the last hour and a half going over a plan for the next day with
Agent Thornley, until it was obvious neither one could think straight.
It was decided that Mulder would try and get John Jacobs on the phone
early in the morning. At which point the goal was to get Jacobs to
trust Mulder to the point of inviting him inside the compound, so they
could negotiate privately.
After nearly six weeks, the FBI had no idea what was on the other side
of the compound's walls. They knew the Brotherhood was armed, but they
didn't know exactly with what or how armed they really were. Was it a
couple of guns or an arsenal? There was so much they still didn't
know. So much they needed to know, if they were going to end this
peacefully. Mulder's head was spinning, full of facts he had had to
absorb in the last 12 hours. It was after four when he finally fell
asleep.
***********
Scully was in Dr. Adair's office by eight, eager to compare her notes
with his and find her way to the compound. After three hours and
another look inside Jeremiah Miller's chest cavity, they still had
nothing conclusive. Yes, he died of massive internal bleeding.
Probably from a puncture wound. But what caused the wound and how it
happened, remained a mystery.
By the time she left the coroner's office it was noon. She had told
herself the night before she would just drive out to the compound, not
let him know she was coming. But now she decided maybe she should warn
him. Let him be prepared for her arrival.
His cellular rang six times before it was answered. "Thornley."
"Hello?" Scully held her breath. Who was Thornley? Was that the agent
in charge? She thought she remembered the name from the case file. And
where was Mulder?
"Yes, this is agent Thornley. Who's this?"
"Agent Dana Scully. Agent Mulder's," she hesitated. She wanted to
scream, I'm his wife dammit. Where the hell is he? Instead she said,
"partner. Where is Agent Mulder?" she added quickly.
"Agent Scully, this is Spencer Thornley, the agent in charge. Agent
Mulder is actually in talking with John Jacobs right now."
"WHAT?" It was getting difficult for her to breathe.
"Amazing," Agent Thornley was saying. "We've been working this thing
for six weeks, not even getting to the point where Jacobs would agree
to talk to the same agent more than once and Mulder gets a personal
invitation into the compound after a two hour conversation this
morning. He's just as good as his reputation, your partner. If not
better. This may be the first break we've had." Thornley was obviously
pleased with the situation.
Dana Scully was not. If she knew Mulder, he was working on two hours
sleep and an empty stomach. Inside some psycho's head, trying to
figure out what made him tick. She shook her head and spoke slowly.
"How long has he been in there?" she asked.
"About two hours."
"Have you heard from him?"
"He called about twenty minutes ago. Said everything was fine."
"Okay, well, if he calls again tell him..." Scully was at a loss for
words. Tell him what? That his 'partner' wants to kill him? "Never
mind. Don't tell him anything. I'm on my way." She hung up without
waiting for a response and practically had to peel her fingers from
the phone, so tightly was she holding on to it.
If she hadn't been vacillating between anger and worry she might have
noticed the beautiful scenery on the way to the compound. As it was,
when she arrived, she couldn't remember how she got there.
**********
John Jacobs voice was beginning to sound like a drone and Mulder had
to admit to himself that he was tired. He wished he had taken Thornley
up on his offer of a stale bagel earlier that morning. It's the good
married life, he thought wistfully, Dana's spoiled me with decent
sleep and food.
During his career with the FBI Mulder had met many men like John
Jacobs. Little men like Robert Modell, men who craved power at any
cost. To themselves or to others. It didn't matter. In the case of
John Jacobs, it was obvious his charisma and good looks had played a
big part in his current status as the leader of the Yeoman
Brotherhood. He was at least 6'5", with the brawny look of a logger.
Mulder knew he was 42, but he easily could have passed for someone 10
years younger. He had dark, wavy hair and blue eyes that framed the
perfect oval face, right down to a dark, short cropped beard. Not
exactly the picture of madness one would expect. Then again, Mulder
thought, half smiling, neither is Phoebe Green.
None of the other 20 or so members in the compound, men or women,
looked like they could kill a fly without asking for Jacobs'
permission. Intelligence, of course, was a factor. He may be off his
rocker, but he was a smart man off his rocker. Quite a dangerous
combination.
Mulder looked around him carefully, making sure Jacobs didn't notice.
He had managed to scan the place pretty well in the last couple of
hours. The compound was roughly 5000 square feet, that much he knew
from the plans Thornley had shown him the night before, and he had
already figured out where most of the rooms were.
The two men were seated at a table that was off to one side of the
large living room. There were a few old couches in the center of the
room and someone was sleeping in one of them. Other than Jacobs, who
was as animated as Daffy Duck on speed, everyone else Mulder had seen
in the compound was very low-key. Jumpy almost. He couldn't put his
finger on it, but he knew something was slightly amiss with the
Brotherhood clan.
Jacobs was going on about communicating with God, repeating "God's
exact words" for the third time, when Mulder noticed the man on the
couch shifting uncomfortably in his sleep. He was a tall man, who's
feet were hanging over the side of the loveseat he was sleeping on.
Despite the fact that he was completely bald, Mulder guessed he was in
his twenties. The young man was shaking his head slowly, beads of
sweat forming on his forehead. His breathing was becoming rapid and
shallow. He was grunting. Fighting to move his arms but unable to. As
if someone was holding them down.
Jacobs was so caught up in his own reverie about God he was totally
unaware of the drama unfolding just 20 feet away from him.
Mulder was about to stand up, to say something, anything, that would
end the poor man's dilemma, when the man screamed. A blood curdling,
high pitched, panic-stricken scream. Mulder was on his feet instantly,
on his way to the couch, when he felt a gun on his back.
"You move and you're dead."
***********
It was nearly three in the afternoon and Dana Scully was getting
nervous. Mulder hadn't been in contact since earlier that morning and
even Thornley, ever the Mulder cheerleader, was starting to pace.
When the phone in the tent rang, they both jumped.
"Thornley." He listened patiently before responding. "Let me talk to
Agent Mulder."
Scully couldn't take her eyes off of Thornley. His expression betrayed
nothing. Like a good cop, she thought dryly.
"Agent Mulder is this true?" Thornley was listening again. "All right
then. Very well. Give us a couple of minutes." He hung up and looked
at Scully. "Someone in the compound is ill. Apparently woke up
screaming, grabbing his head before passing out. Jacobs wants us to
send in a paramedic to take a look at him."
"What about Agent Mulder?" Scully was having a hard time containing
herself. Keeping her emotions in check.
"Jacobs doesn't want him to leave just yet. Says they still have a lot
of talking to do."
"Is Mulder okay?"
"He seems to be, Agent Scully," Thornley was walking past her, in
search of a medic. "If you'll excuse me, I have to find someone I can
send in."
Scully grabbed the agent's arm. "Send me."
"What? Agent Scully I need a paramedic, a..."
"I'm a medical doctor Agent Thornley. Send me in." Scully was
practically pleading and she was hoping her expression wasn't
betraying her.
"You're a doctor? But I thought..." Thornley was slightly taken aback.
He had taken a liking to this agent. What little conversation they had
shared, he had been impressed with her knowledge of the case and her
concern for her partner. Maybe sending her in would be a good idea. If
Mulder was in any trouble who better than his partner to watch his
back. And vice versa.
"Please send me in. I'm a doctor and a trained agent. You're not going
to get a better combination in such a short amount of time." Scully
was already handing Thornley her gun, so strong was her resolve.
Thornley shook his head. "Okay," he agreed. "If you're sure it's what
you want to do."
"I'm sure," Scully answered. "Just show me the way."
FBI team outside
Brotherhood Compound
2:15 pm
Agent Thornley stood working his jaw as one of his agents
adjusted the bulletproof vest on Scully.
"I'm assuming Agent Mulder has one of these as well," she
asked, making a minor adjustment at the shoulders. <This is a
little tight around the middle,> she noted and wondered how
long it would be before this kind of activity would be out of
the question. For the moment, no one was going to stop her
from following Mulder to hell and back, or to right where he
was at present.
Thornley rubbed his face with his hand. "Well, to tell the
truth, he didn't want one. Said it would show a lack of faith,"
the older agent said and the look on his face showed that he
wasn't sure that was such a good idea.
Scully's eyes flashed, but she kept her anger in check. "He
frequently has delusions of immortality," she said dryly and
added a half hearted attempt at a smile. Thornley shook his
head and smiled back.
"Should we consider a wire?" one of Thornley's agents
asked.
"No," Scully answered before Thornley had the chance. "If
Mulder was worried about a vest, I think finding a wire would
really spook them. I'll be fine. So far, we really don't know
what's going on in there. I don't want to start something we
can't control." Thornley nodded in agreement. If he had other
ideas, he kept them to himself.
"Here's a medical kit," a fourth agent said, handing her a
small box approximately the size of a toolbox. "It's not much,
just what we had around. Mostly bandages, sutures, but no
real drugs of any kind. If it's worse than that, we should really
get the guy out. They let the other guy out, you know, by
ambulance."
"Yeah, and he died. I doubt they're going to be as
accommodating now," Scully said ruefully. "Well, better get this
show on the road." She reached over and took one of the
ballcaps that had been lying on the hood of the car, tucking her
hair up under it. She caught Thornley's questioning gaze. "No
use giving away all of our secrets, now, is there?" Thornley
smiled again and shook his head.
"Good luck, Scully," he said and waved the rest of the
agents back to give her room to move toward the compound.
"Luck has nothing to do with it," she muttered to herself
and started across the spring grass to the door of the low
clapboard building.
------------
Inside the Brotherhood compound
"You a doctor?" Jacobs asked as he divided his attention
between Mulder and the ailing man on the couch.
"No, I just know one really well," Mulder explained calmly.
"From the looks of it, that man is experiencing either the worst
migraine in the history of the world, or some kind of aneurism.
If it's the latter, you need to get him to a hospital immediately.
Waiting will only kill him."
"Well, it seems the last time we sent someone to the
hospital, he died anyway," Jacobs spat out. "I'm willing to let
a paramedic look at him, but he's not leaving this compound,
understood?"
Mulder nodded in compliance and sat watching the door.
So far, negotiations were going about as well as he had
expected. <This mess has been building up for over a month,
it ain't going away in a couple of hours,> he reminded himself
when his patience had been wearing thin. But at least, so far,
no more agents had died. Then, neither had anyone inside the
compound.
Jacobs was convinced that the first old man had died of
something in the water. Something put there by the FBI.
Hence, the 'eye for an eye' philosophy that had led to the death
of the agent. Now, another member of the Brotherhood
appeared stricken, mysteriously so and that did not bode well
for a peaceful completion of the talks. <Thank God Scully
hasn't called,> he thought. <She'd be out here in a flash and
pounding at the door, guns drawn. Hopefully she's still tied up
with the autopsy. Hopefully, she won't have any more to
worry about too soon,> he added with more than a little
trepidation.
"Somebody's coming," shouted the man at the door.
"Describe them," Jacobs ordered.
"One guy, short fella. Wearing a blue uniform. Looks like
the paramedics that were here the other night, took Jer. He's
got a first aid kit, from the looks of it," came the reply.
"When he gets to the door, pat him down, *outside*. Then
search the kit for weapons. If he's clean, let him in.
Otherwise, kill him," Jacobs said evenly. Mulder closed his
eyes and prayed Thornley was still treating this with kid
gloves. He didn't really want to watch an execution in
progress, he was fairly certain the one immediately following
would be his own.
At the approach of the 'paramedic', the man at the door
went out. After a few minutes, he opened the door, ushering
the uniformed person into the room. Mulder was too
preoccupied with the convulsive movements of the man on the
couch to notice who had entered.
Scully kept her head down, and walked steadily over to the
couch. She purposefully avoided looking at her husband.
<Partner,> she chided herself. <If he's your partner, you both
stand a fairly good chance of getting out alive. That might not
be the case if he's your husband.> Once to the couch, she
knelt down and began examining the patient.
The man was obviously in intense pain. He was also in
shock. His pulse was rapid and erratic, his breath coming in
short gasps. He had his hands pressing against his temples in
an effort to alleviate the pain. When Scully checked his eyes
they were dilated. There were no signs of aneurism, no blood
around either of the pupils, but Scully was not willing to rule
out that possiblity.
"This man needs to be in a hospital," she announced and at
the sound of her voice all the men in the room turned and
stared. Especially Special Agent Fox Mulder, who couldn't
hide the panic in his eyes.
"Well, he's staying put. That's how you've been managing
to kill off my men already. I can see a Trojan Horse. We
aren't letting anyone else out," Jacobs commanded.
"Then this man is going to die," Scully said forcefully.
"There is a very good possiblity that a blood vessel in his brain
has broken. Without surgery, he will bleed to death. I have
some bandages and aspirin in this kit. Neither of them is what
he needs."
"He's not leaving," Jacobs shouted, letting his voice echo
off the walls.
Mulder recovered from his shock quickly and looked
around at the other men in the room. They all look frightened.
Each one of them wondered what was going to happen next.
He needed to get control of the situation and fast. "Jacobs, be
reasonable," Mulder said calmly, slowly. "Let this man go to
the hospital. He doesn't have to die. . ."
Jacobs reacted with lightning speed. He reached into the
holster on his belt and drew his gun, raising it up and then
bringing the grip down on Mulder's temple with the speed of a
rocket. The force of the blow was enough to drop the agent
to the floor, unconscious. Then Jacobs turned the gun around
and held the barrel at Mulder's forehead. "When I want your
opinion, I'll ask for it," he hissed. Then he kicked the fallen
agent square in the ribs with all his might. "For now, just shut
the hell up!"
Scully stood there, stunned. She forced herself to be still,
even though the impulse to run over to her husband was
almost more than she could control. Jacobs turned slowly and
faced her. "Do what you can," he ordered, "and pray it's
enough. Because if Bo dies, he dies," he gestured toward
Mulder's still form on the ground. Scully nodded in
understanding and turned back to the man on the couch.
"The Fibbie ain't no use to you dead," a woman's voice said
from the far side of the room. A tiny woman, no more than 5
feet tall and probably weighing less than 90 pounds rose from a
chair and walked slowly toward Jacobs.
"This is no business of yours, Dixie," Jacobs growled.
"Just go on back to your cooking."
"Look, John. I might not be one of your 'men', but I have a
brain. You throw out another dead agent and this place goes
up in smoke. Those are Feds out there. They've been holding
off up till now, but they ain't gonna stand for this kind of
killing," Dixie said evenly, not backing down an inch.
"They killed your husband, you stupid bitch," Jacobs yelled
at her.
"You think I forgot that?" she shouted back. "My
Jeremiah's dead," she said sadly. "I have nothing left to lose.
But there is no reason that everyone here needs to die. Not
like this. Or are you too stupid to handle this without killing
all of us?" she challenged.
Jacobs' anger flashed again, but he knew better than to hurt
the tiny woman. He glanced around the room and realized
that his men would follow him far, but not to the point of
watching him harm the widow of one of their comrades.
After chewing on his lip a moment he slowly formed an evil
caricature of a smile. "You might just be right after all,
Dixie. He might be worth more alive than dead." He turned
his attention back to Scully and pointed to Mulder on the
floor. "When you get a chance, make sure he doesn't die on
us. Not till we're ready for it, at least," he laughed cruelly.
-----------
It was dark when Mulder awoke. His head was splitting
and the pain in his chest was all too familiar. <Scully is not
going to like my busting more ribs,> he mused. Then he
remembered. Scully was here. His anger flared and he tried to
get to his feet, but the pain in his body held him to the floor.
<Damn that woman, what was she thinking,> he cursed
mentally. It came out a groan.
"Lie still," a voice whispered in the darkness. He felt, but
still could not see, the hand that brushed his shoulder.
"Where are we?" he asked, wanting to get at least some
information before he let out his anger and frustration.
"I think it's a storage closet. They dragged you in here
after Jacobs clubbed you. I got tossed in here about an hour
ago." Scully reached up and let her fingers lightly touch his
forehead until she heard him hiss with pain. "I wish I could
see your eyes, but it's a safe assumption you have a
concussion. What the hell were you thinking?" she demanded.
"Wait a minute," he growled. "*I* am the one who's angry
here! What the hell were *you* thinking? Or Thornley, for
that matter. You're supposed to be performing an autopsy,
not sitting in a closet, waiting to die." He had raised his voice,
but it only caused his head to feel like it was exploding, so he
was forced to lower it.
"And I suppose it was a good idea to waltz in here without
a chest protector?" she hissed in return. "Damn it all, Mulder,
you make me so mad when you. . ."
"Dana," he said, and his voice was deadly calm. "I am not
risking our unborn child. You are," he accused.
That one hurt. He had never used that kind of tactic on her
before and she hadn't expected it now. "He isn't going to kill
us," she said, just as evenly.
"And how do you know that?" he laughed mockingly.
"You finally start believing in crystal balls?"
"No," she said, and tried very hard to keep the unshed tears
in check and out of her voice. "He's got other plans for you."
"For us, you mean. Otherwise, you'd still be out there with
them. Or out of the compound completely." Mulder closed
his eyes, the effort of talking and all the emotion was causing
his head to spin. "I'm sure whatever he has in mind is going to
be 'just peachy'," he said sarcastically.
Her reply was cut off when the door to the storage closet
suddenly opened and they were both blinded by the light from
a 100 watt bulb. "Hey, 'Doc', come with me," a gruff voice
ordered. It was everything Mulder could do not to grab
Scully's hand and keep her close to him. He knew that any
action on his part at that moment would only put her in more
danger, so he held himself back and watched as another of the
Brotherhood half helped, half dragged his wife out of the
closet and then slammed and locked the door shut behind
them.
<Where the hell did he get these guys? Rejects from the
NFL?> a small corner of his mind wondered. The men in the
compound were all big and burly, men who spent a good deal
of time in heavy labor, construction, farming and the like. The
thought of what they might be doing to Dana was more than
he cared to know, but he couldn't stop his thoughts from
straying in that direction. <And your last words to her were in
anger,> he thought bitterly. <Damn you, Mulder, when are
you going to learn to keep your mouth shut!>
He was still angry that she was here, but he had to admit,
he was no longer surprised. And, if the situation had been
reversed, he would have come into the compound himself to
try and protect her. It was a cheap shot, about the baby. It
showed how scared he really was about where this whole mess
was headed. He struggled to sit up and scooted back until his
shoulders hit the wall for support. The Brotherhood still didn't
know of his connection to Dana. Hopefully, that would keep
her alive.
"Look, I don't believe in you, I know," he prayed in a quiet
voice. "But she does. So help her, OK? Just keep her safe. I
don't care what they do to me, just don't let anything happen
to her, please?" Miserably, he sat and waited for his partner to
return.
-----------
Jacobs was pacing in front of the man still sprawled on the
couch. He was not pleased. The man, whose name was Bo
Deakins, was pale and not moving. His breathing was shallow
and irregular. In one look, Dana knew Bo was not going to
last very long.
She knelt down next to him on the couch and listened to his
heart, then checked his pulse. "Mr. Jacobs, please. Listen to
me. This man is dying. If I could get him to a hospital, there
is a fair chance that he might survive. Here, he has no chance
at all."
Jacobs marched over to one of the small windows of the
room and looked out. "They're doing this," he said to all
assembled. "The water, the air, whatever. They're filling it
with poison. They're killing us one by one."
The men looked at each other and the fear was strong on
their faces. Everyone was silent, which is why the one small
voice boomed so loud in the room.
"So why ain't we all dead?" Dixie asked, coming over from
the stove with a metal pot in her hand.
The frustration was obvious in his eyes, but Jacobs held it
in check. "Dixie, they're doing it. I don't know how and I
really don't care. But we can't let them continue to pick us off
one by one." He turned to Bo and Scully. "Can he be
moved?"
Dana looked at him, amazed. "No! He's dying, don't you
see that. To move him would kill him for sure. He needs an
ambulance, and now."
"I told you, that is not going to happen," Jacobs growled.
We'll wait it out. For now. Watch him, do what you can.
Bob, come with me. I think we need to 'talk' to that Fibbie
some more," he added menancingly.
Scully dropped her head, hoping no one noticed. She
wasn't aware of the woman bending down next to her until the
large wooden spoon came into her view. "Help me get this
down his throat," Dixie said quietly.
Dana looked up at her startled. "What is it?" she asked,
not sure she trusted the old woman.
Dixie smiled warmly. "Oh, a little of this, little of that. It
will help the shock. We need to get a half cup down him.
Won't save his life, not at this point at least, but it will ease
him a might."
"How do I know you aren't just trying to kill him?" Scully
asked, and then even she realized how ridiculous that sounded.
Fortunately, Dixie took no offense.
"Child, Bo's a friend. I don't want him to die. But I think
we couldn't help him with all the hosptial-ing in the world.
Something's going on here. I know it's not those fellas out
there. But old John, he'll use that excuse to get his way. He
wants these men riled up and he's doing a good job." Dixie
turned her attention to Bo, opening his mouth and spooning
small amounts of the mixture down his throat. "Your man's in
trouble, girl. You need to be careful. I might've stopped him
a while ago, but John wants his pound of flesh and your man's
the closest thing he's got."
Scully caught her breath. "I don't know what you're talking
about. I've never seen that man before in my life."
Dixie laughed softly. "Then why you wearing his wedding
ring?" she asked. "Or carryin' his child?" She put the pot
down and let her hand rest on Scully's arm when she saw the
young woman go pale with fear. "Don't worry, honey. These
men are blind as bats. They don't see it. I always had the sight
about things like that. I saw the way he looked when he heard
your voice and saw your face, but the rest of them were too
distracted to notice." Dixie lifted her hand from Dana and
adjusted Bo's blanket. "And I ain't telling no one. So don't you
worry, hear?"
Inside the compound
4:15 P.M.
Scully nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly, but enough for Dixie to
offer a warm smile. She was in shock. No other word came close to
describing how she felt at that very moment. This very frail, almost
invisible woman, had not only known about her relationship with
Mulder, but she knew about her pregnancy as well. She wasn't sure if
she could trust her, but realized she didn't have much choice.
John Jacobs' booming voice from another room brought her back to the
present and sent a chill through her body.
"Get up, you good for nothin' Fibbie!"
Scully took a deep breath and bit her lower lip. It was all she could
do to contain her anger and keep from running to Mulder's aid.
***********
Mulder wasn't sure how long Scully had been gone. All he knew was that
he wanted to see her. Needed to see her desperately. The guilt he was
feeling superseded the pounding in his head and the dull ache in his
side. When he heard the door to the closet unlock he prayed it was
Scully, safe and sound. As safe and as sound as anyone could be around
madman Jacobs, he thought bitterly.
His hopeful anticipation was short lived when he saw Jacobs' large
form towering in front of him. Mulder heard him say get up, but then,
suddenly, and without warning, John Jacobs grabbed him by the
shoulders and hurled him out of the closet and across the room.
Whatever words Jacobs said after that Mulder didn't hear. His head had
exploded and he could no longer hear or barely see what was going on
around him.
Mulder forced himself to concentrate. He needed to get through this.
Dana was somewhere in the compound and he couldn't let her down.
Jacobs was standing over him, slowly backing him into a corner. Mulder
looked around but the slight movement made him gasp. They were in the
kitchen, a young woman was standing a few feet away at the stove. She
was cooking, wearing an apron. It was surreal, Mulder wanted to laugh.
He pictured Marie Antoinette saying, "Let them eat cake" and Betty
Crocker at a beheading. The room was spinning again and Jacobs kept
talking. Shouting, I think he's shouting, Mulder thought. But what is
he saying? Concentrate Mulder, concentrate.
"...want you to tell me what the hell is going on here? What happened
to Jeremiah and what's happening to Bo? I know you know boy, so you
just better tell me now before I feel the urge to inflict any more
damage to that scrawny little body of yours." Jacobs' grin was pure
mischief and from where Mulder was sitting he could smell the whiskey
on the man's breath.
Great, a drunken lunatic, Mulder thought bitterly, forcing himself to
look up at Jacobs and answer him. But what could he say? He had no
idea what he was talking about.
"I...we," Mulder took a slow breath, he didn't know talking could be
so painful. It would have been easier if Jacobs didn't keep coming in
and out of focus.
"Speak up, boy, I can't hear you." Jacobs gave Mulder a swift kick in
the chest, barely missing the already fractured ribs.
Mulder gasped for air. Bob, who had been standing by, afraid of his
own shadow, started to laugh uncontrollably. A loud, nervous laughter
that made Jacobs turn to him and forcefully push him out of the way.
"Shut up, boy," he shouted. "If you can't take the heat, then get the
hell out of the kitchen."
At that precise instant Jacobs noticed for the first time the woman
standing in front of the stove. She was frozen in place, had been
since the whole ordeal with Mulder began a few minutes earlier. She
was boiling some water for Dixie, to make another tea for Bo, and at
the moment was wishing the ground would open up and swallow her.
"Tenille, what the hell are you doing?" Jacobs was sparing no one
today.
"I...I'm boiling some water to make a tea for Bo...Dixie...said..."
The young woman was visibly shaken and was pushing her long blond hair
subconsciously away from her face. She knew she didn't belong there.
Not in the kitchen just then, not in the compound for the last six
weeks. Like Bob, she had been a victim of circumstances, negative
circumstances, for most of her life. When she met Bob over a year ago
he offered her what Jacobs had offered him, an occasional kind word
and a place to call home. More than anyone had given her since
mother's death when she was six.
"I don't care what the hell Dixie said. You just..." Jacobs was cut
off by a shuffling sound from behind. Apparently the young agent was
trying to stand up, and was nearly on his feet when Jacobs spun around
to face him.
"Good, I'm glad you're up," he bellowed mischievously. "Now maybe we
can take care of this man to man."
Mulder was leaning against the wall for support. Forcing himself to
focus on the situation at hand.
"So tell me boy, what is it the bureau has in store for us? Is it the
water? Is it something they're pumping into the air?"
"I...don't...know..." focusing and speaking was almost more than he
could handle. "What you're talking...about...We aren't
doing....any...thing." His words were labored and he wanted to slide
down the wall until he was sitting again. He couldn't remember why he
had wanted to stand in the first place. Dana...that's right. She's
here. He wanted to go find her. His eyes were starting to close. He
could feel himself drifting away, his thoughts fading.
"God damnit, listen to me." Jacobs wasn't done with him. Agent Mulder
would pass out when *he* said it was okay. Not a moment sooner. He
leaned forward and grabbed Mulder's shoulders with both hands, but the
young man's eyelids were fluttering and he knew he was losing him.
In a fit of rage, Jacobs let go of the agent and swirled around to the
stove, pushing Tenille out of the way and grabbing the pot of boiling
water she was tending.
Mulder caught a glimpse of something coming his way and instinctively
brought up his hand and moved his head. The scalding water reached his
right hand and part of his arm, causing the throbbing in his head to
feel like a minor ache.
***********
Scully was trying very hard to concentrate on Bo and whatever it was
Dixie was saying to her. Unfortunately, all she could hear were
Jacobs' angry words directed at her husband. She wanted to run to him
when she heard Jacobs yelling at Mulder to listen to him. She knew
Mulder had a concussion and she could picture him blacking out in
Jacobs' arms. She wanted him in her arms so desperately.
Just then, a young woman, she'd heard Dixie call her Tenille, came
running out of the kitchen. The woman, Scully guessed no more than 20
years-old, was visibly shaken and immediately ran to Dixie for
comfort.
"Dixie, it's awful," Tenille was sobbing. "John's going to kill him. I
know he is."
"There, there," Dixie was holding the woman, gently stroking her back.
"It's okay, sugar. He's not going to kill him. He's just been drinking
again and is a little upset."
"No Dixie, I can see it in his eyes," Tenille was fighting for control
and looked Dixie straight in the eyes. "He grabbed the pot of boiling
water I had on the stove and threw it at him. Caught his hand and arm.
He was aiming for his face, Dixie."
Dana Scully stood up, determined to go in the kitchen and rescue her
husband when she felt Dixie's strong hand on her shoulder.
"Tenille, honey," she was saying, not letting go of her grip on
Scully. "Please go get me another blanket for Bo. I think he's
startin' to feel better and I wouldn't want him to be cold."
Tenille nodded quietly and headed in the direction of one of the
bedrooms. Dixie immediately turned her attention to Scully, who did
not look very pleased or eager for small talk.
"Please let go of my arm, " Scully said through clenched teeth.
"Child, you can't go in there right now."
"I...I have to." Scully wanted to run, to scream, to cry, anything but
what she was doing rightthen, which was nothing. For all she knew
Mulder was already dead.
"I know you do," Dixie said slowly. "But you can't. Your man's gonna
need you to help him and if you go in there right now, John will make
sure you're in no shape to help him." Dixie paused before continuing.
"Or your unborn child."
Scully's eyes welled up with the realization that Dixie was right. Now
was not the time for her to make a move. But when? When and how was
she going to be able to do something? Anything? Her attention was once
again drawn to the kitchen and Jacob's angry voice, yelling at her
husband words she knew he couldn't hear. She turned to Dixie, eyes
pleading.
"What can I do? I can't just stand here."
Dixie smiled tenderly. This young woman reminded her so much of
herself when she and Jeremiah were newlyweds. It made her heart ache.
"Let me see what I can do," Dixie said, slowly walking to the center
of the room, where she stood silently for a few seconds before letting
out a high pitched, demonic wail. She continued alternately sobbing
and screaming until everyone in the compound, everyone except for
Mulder, that is, was in the room with her.
"What's the matter with her?" Tenille was asking, she'd already had
enough excitement for one day. Dixie was the only one in the compound
she felt she could trust. Even Bob had distanced himself from her in
the last few weeks. The thought of losing Dixie was unthinkable.
Dixie began to speak slowly, between sobs. "Jeremiah....he was here,"
the old woman said. "He told me we had to get out of here. He said..."
Dixie was shaking. Scully found her to be an incredible actress. Not
only that, she'd managed to bring Jacobs out of the kitchen and away
from Mulder. "He said...everything that's happening is our own
doing...He said we are killing each other...We have to leave here...We
can't kill anymore or we will all go to hell and damnation for our
sins." Dixie continued to sob, yelling loudly when anyone came near
her. "He's here," she kept saying. "Can't you feel him?"
The group that had gathered around Dixie was frozen in place. Most of
the men and women in the compound had grown up hearing folk tales
about the Blackfoot and the Sioux Indians. Tales that created a
lifetime of superstition and a powerful belief in the afterlife.
Messages from the dead, no matter what form they came in, were always
taken seriously.
John Jacobs, on the other hand, was not a superstitious man and
neither did he believe in the afterlife. But he was smart enough to
know his followers did and so, right then and there, he decided what
their plan of action would be. He just needed some time to put it into
effect. In the meantime, to prevent an all out mutiny, he decided he
better get the fibbie in the kitchen some medical attention.
He turned to Scully, who had been standing away from the crowd,
waiting for the opportunity to make her way to the kitchen.
"Hey Doc," Jacobs said, in a voice oozing with warmth. "Why don't you
go into the kitchen and see what you can do for our friend, Agent
Mulder. We wouldn't want anything to happen to him now, would we?"
Scully nodded, her heart in her mouth, and headed silently into the
kitchen.
The sight of Mulder, slumped against a corner of the large kitchen,
one leg bent at the knee, with his head resting on it, the other leg
stretched out in front of him, a badly burned hand, lying idly beside
him, made her gasp. She clenched her teeth tightly in an effort to
control her emotions. He needed professional help right now, she
reminded herself. Not a hysterical wife. She leaned down in front of
him and gently put a hand on the side of his head.
"Mulder," she whispered. "Fox, can you hear me?"
Mulder flinched slightly at her touch and slowly moved his head up to
face her. The movement was painful, but he wanted so much to see her
again. He tried to force a smile, but settled for a slow apology.
"I'm...sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean what I said...about
the...baby..."
"Shh. I know you didn't mean it," she said. "But I need to take care
of you right now. Open your eyes for me." Mulder did as he was told,
squinting against what little light there was in the room. As she
suspected, his eyes were dilated.
"Well, you have a concussion," she said matter of factly. "But we
already suspected as much. Let me take a look at your hand." Mulder
drew back slightly as Scully picked up his right hand. The scalding
water had already caused blisters all along the palm of his hand and
up his wrist and arm, halfway to his elbow. "I'm going to get you some
ice water to soak your hand in," she said before standing up. "Stay
put, okay?"
Mulder tried to smile. Like he was going anywhere.
Scully quickly found a large roasting pan and filled it with ice
water, carefully placing it beside Mulder on the floor and gently
putting his hand in it. He hissed in pain quietly, but said nothing.
After rummaging through the small medical kit she had been given
Scully found no creams or ointments for burns. There were plenty of
bandages, but nothing to soothe the pain. She took out four aspirin
and put them in his mouth, holding a glass of water up to his lips. He
gulped the water quickly and she realized it had been a while since
her husband had had anything to eat or drink.
His breathing was shallow and slightly irregular and Scully was
fearful he was close to losing consciousness. "Mulder, where else does
it hurt?" she asked, gently feeling his chest and ribs.
"Ow," he moved uncomfortably from her touch. "That hurts Scully. I
think I may...have broken some...ribs."
"Not you, Fox, Jacobs. Jacobs broke some of your ribs," she replied,
her voice full of hostility.
"Yeah, well. They're mine...They're broken."
Scully tried to smile at her husband's attempt at humor. He was very
pale, with clammy skin and all the signs of shock. He needed to be in
a hospital, but somehow, that didn't seem like an option.
"Mulder, you need to get to a hospital," she said anyway, just to make
herself feel better.
Before Mulder could say anything Jacobs' shadow came over both of
them. "I'm afraid that's out of the question, Doc."
Scully turned and looked up at Jacobs, contempt in her eyes. Mulder
went to grab her arm but thought better of it. If Jacobs knew...If he
knew what this woman meant to him, it would no doubt be the end of
her.
Scully stood up in a weak attempt to gain some leverage on the man,
who was easily three times her size. "This man needs to get to a
hospital," she said. "He has a concussion, some broken ribs, a badly
burned hand and is in the early stages of shock. I have nothing here
to treat any of those. If he doesn't get to a hospital soon, he may
die."
"Well, Doc, that's just a chance we'll have to take," Jacobs flashed
her a leering grin and she wanted to punch him in the face. If she
could only reach his face, she thought grimly.
"At least, let me get him to a bed, where I can make him more
comfortable and he can rest." It was the most she could hope for under
the circumstances.
"I'll tell you what," Jacobs answered, grinning once again. "I'll help
you drag him into that closet again and you can take that big pot of
ice water with you. And hell, I'll even throw in a flashlight, so you
can keep a real good eye on him, okay?"
It really wasn't a question and Scully realized it was the best they
were going to get. She nodded slowly, stepping in front of Mulder
just before Jacobs' grabbed him.
"I'll help him in the closet, " she said. "If you could please get me
a blanket, I would really appreciate it."
Jacobs was about to say something, maybe kick the agent one more time
for good measure, but thought better of it. A couple of his followers
were in the kitchen now, still spooked from Dixie's ramblings, and he
didn't want to add fuel to the fire. "Hey, Tim," he yelled to one of
the men standing behind him. "Go get the Doc here a blanket."
Scully helped Mulder to his feet and slowly walked him to the storage
closet that would become their home for God knew how long. She found a
good spot for Mulder and sat him down, going back for the ice water
and the glass she had left on the kitchen floor. She took the blanket
from Tim and the flashlight from Jacobs before closing the door to the
closet herself. She waited for the lock to fall in place before
joining Mulder on the floor.
It took all his strength, but Mulder managed to put his good arm
around Scully and bring her close, letting her head drop on his chest.
He thought he heard her crying, but said nothing.
***********
Outside the compound
7:45 P.M.
Agent Thornley was not a happy man. He had been living this case for
the last month and today, for the first time, he had felt like they
might be getting somewhere. Like there actually could be an end in
sight. Agent Mulder had been everything he had hoped for and then
some. Intelligent, tenacious, willing to do whatever it took to take
care of the situation. His partner had seemed like a Godsend. An agent
*and* a doctor. The last medic he had sent in came right out with
Jeremiah Miller. There was no reason why this time should have been
any different. But it was. Agent Scully had been gone for nearly four
hours.
He could no longer wait patiently. In spite of Agent Mulder's request
that he not call the compound, that he wait for him to call, he picked
up the phone and dialed John Jacobs' direct line. Agent Mulder and
Agent Scully were good people. That much he knew. He could no longer
wait around for the answers. It was time he started asking some
questions.
The voice on the other end sounded slurred, angry. What little
research they had dug up on Jacobs showed a man with a severe drinking
problem. "Jacobs here."
"Jacobs, this is Agent Thornley. I need to speak with Agent Mulder."
"Gee, Thornley. I'm afraid you can't do that right now. Agent Mulder
is...indisposed, right now."
Thornley tightened his grip on the phone. He could tell from the way
Jacobs had said that that he was smiling. Enjoying the conversation
and its repercussions. The son of a bitch..."Listen, Jacobs, you
already have one murder to contend with on your hands. I suggest you
let me talk to Agent Mulder before this gets completely out of hand."
What was he saying? It already was out of hand.
Jacobs thought for a moment. He needed a few more hours to put his
plan into effect and it would do no good to have the FBI storming the
compound before he was ready. "Okay," he finally said, "I'll put the
Doc on the phone, but make it quick. She's a busy woman."
Thornley could hear Jacobs laughing as he dropped the phone. What did
he mean by his last remark? And why couldn't Mulder come to the phone?
This day was not turning out the way he had expected.
Scully quickly moved away from Mulder when she heard someone unlocking
the door. Mulder had fallen asleep and she could see when the door
opened that he was not doing well.
Jacobs reached in and grabbed her hand forcefully, pulling her out
abruptly. "Agent Thornley's on the phone, wants to talk to Agent
Mulder. I told him you would have to do." He led Scully into his
private study and held the phone at a distance before handing it to
her. "Make it quick and tell him nothing...or else."
Scully took the phone and answered slowly, hoping her tone would
convey the seriousness of the situation. "Hello."
"Agent Scully, Thornley here. What the hell is going on? Where is
Agent Mulder?"
"Sir?" What could she say that wouldn't make Jacobs grab the phone
from her immediately.
"Agent Scully, are you all right?"
"No."
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"What about Agent Mulder? Is he hurt?"
"Yes."
Thornley took a deep breath. "How badly?" No, no, ask yes or no
questions, you fool. It's obvious she can't talk. "Is he hurt badly?"
"Yes." Scully looked at Jacobs, who was getting antsy.
"How about the other guy? The guy you were sent in to help in the
first place? Is he dead?"
"I don't think so."
"Good, at least we're not at the point of retribution just yet. Agent
Scully..." too late, Jacobs grabbed the phone from her.
"That's it Thornley. You had your chance. You know she's alive. As
well as the other one. They're both alive. For now. You do anything
stupid, however, and they won't be for long."
Thornley was left with a dial tone and an empty feeling in the pit of
his stomach. The next call he had to make he dreaded even more than
the previous one. He picked up the phone and dialed Assistant Director
Skinner's direct line.
One ring and the call was answered. Walter Skinner didn't mess around
with this line. Very few people had it and even fewer still ever used
it. "Skinner."
"Walter, it's me, Spencer."
"Spence? Hey...good to hear from you. What's going on? Agent Mulder
driving you nuts with his theories yet?"
"Well, actually no..." Thornley wasn't sure where to begin. "Walter,
we have a problem."
Walter Skinner sat back and listened to his old friend recount the
activities of the last 24 hours. When Thornley got to the part about
Agent Mulder being allowed into the compound he took off his glasses
and rubbed his eyes. "That's the thing about Mulder," he mused, "he's
too good for his own good."
Thornley was getting to the part about Scully going in. "She insisted
on going in. What with her being a doctor and Mulder's partner, who
better to watch his back..."
"WHAT? You sent his wife in?" Skinner was hyperventilating. He should
have known it would never work. Sending the two agents out on a case
together. His two married to each other agents. Even though assigned
to separate parts of the case, 30 miles apart, they still managed to
end up together. In trouble.
Thornley was still reeling from the implications of Skinner's last
statement. "His...wife?" Is that what he said?
"Yes, his wife. I take it Agent Scully didn't bother filling you in on
that minor detail?" Sarcasm would get him nowhere at this point. He
wasn't sure what would.
"No, no, she didn't tell me that." Thornley was scratching his head.
Now what? "How was I supposed to know?"
Skinner softened a bit. Thornley was right. Besides, even if they
weren't married, if this incident had happened two years ago, both
agents would have responded the same way. They had been devoted to
each other from day one. Why should he expect anything different
simply because they were married?
"You weren't supposed to know, Spence," Skinner said, relaxing a
little. "They're professionals dedicated to each other, to their
partnership. They would have reacted this way before they became
romantically involved, before they got married. I would have expected
nothing less from them before and I'm a fool if I thought they would
behave any differently now. So what's the status now? Where are we? I
know this can't be the reason you called."
"No, you're right," Thornley said, recalling his conversation with
Agent Scully just minutes before. He repeated the conversation to
Skinner, who sat silently for a moment before responding.
Mulder's hurt and Scully's pregnant, he thought to himself. "What are
your options at this point Spence?" he finally asked.
"I'm not sure. I have orders to do nothing drastic without permission
from the attorney general. I'm calling her next."
"You don't suppose this Jacobs character is bluffing, do you?" Skinner
asked.
Thornley shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Agent Briggs was 29
years-old, shot in cold blood. I wouldn't take anything Jacobs says at
this point lightly. For all we know it may be too late to save Agent
Mulder."
"I hope you're wrong," Skinner said. "He's got a lot to live for these
days." He paused and thought for a moment. "Spence, I'm on my way out
there. I'll call you from the plane to get an update."
Thornley hung up and thought about his old friend Walter Skinner
before calling the Attorney General. He had felt these agents were
special from the minute he laid eyes on them. Apparently, Walter
Skinner felt the same way. He only hoped Jacobs was still unaware of
their relationship to each other. That knowledge could be deadly for
both of them.
***********
Inside the compound
2:00 A.M.
Mulder was running, faster than he thought possible. The Blackfoot
warrior had been chasing him for quite some time and he was getting
close. He could almost feel the warrior's knife on his head when his
foot caught a fallen tree branch and he fell. The ground disappeared
from underneath him and he kept falling, down a black abyss.
Falling...falling...until he felt a hand reach out and grab him, stop
him from falling.
"Shh. It's okay. Relax. You were having a dream." Scully. It was okay.
Scully was there. Slowly, he realized where he was and why his head
was pounding, his hand hurt like hell and he was having a hard time
catching his breath.
Within seconds the guilt came back. He felt guilty for not being there
for Scully, when he knew she needed him. If only to offer some
comfort. I just can't win for trying, he thought dryly.
Scully shifted her position around him, reaching up, feeling his
forehead. He held up his left hand and held her hand against his
cheek. "I'm sorry Dana," he said quietly. Even to himself, he didn't
sound very good.
"Sorry for what? It was just a dream." He felt warm to the touch. Not
a good sign. The burn was going to need treatment soon, before it
became infected.
"No, not for that," he said wearily. "For getting you into this mess,
for marrying you, for life."
"Don't be silly," she whispered. "I married you too, remember. And I'd
follow you to the ends of the Earth if I had to." She felt Mulder's
smile underneath her hand and it made her move closer to him,
protectively bringing the blanket up around his chest.
Scully turned on the flashlight and looked at her watch. It was 2 A.M.
She looked at her husband's pale skin and offered him some water,
which he took obediently, making sure to leave enough for her.
"When was the last time you ate anything, Mulder?" she asked, turning
off the flashlight.
"What time is it?" he asked in return, ignoring the question.
"Answer me. When was the last time you ate?"
"I don't know. Yesterday sometime. Whatever we had on the plane. What
time is it?" he added quickly, hoping to deflect some of her anger.
To his surprise, she wasn't angry. "It's two a.m. Just as well you
haven't eaten," she added, "you probably would have thrown up all over
this damn closet if you'd had anything in your stomach. Imagine that."
Fox smiled at his wife's attempt at humor. She never ceased to
surprise him.
"What do you think Thornley has up his sleeve?" she asked him.
"I don't know. I don't think it's up to him. The attorney general is
running this show. Thornley's just the figure head. If it was up to
him I think he would have busted in here by now."
Scully sat quietly for a moment before continuing. "Why do you think
Jacobs let me come to you? Look after you?"
"Insurance, I suppose. I must be serving a purpose at this point. How
was that kid, Bo?" Mulder pictured Bo, sleeping on the loveseat,
having a nightmare right before waking up screaming, hanging on to his
head for dear life. "Oh my God, Scully..."
"What, what is it? Are you okay?" Scully didn't like the tone in his
voice. He had just discovered something, she could tell that much just
by the urgent tone of his voice.
"I'm fine, well, I'm not, really, but no that's not what I'm talking
about. My dream," he said, speaking faster than his bruised ribs would
let him. "In my dream I was being chased by an Indian, probably a
Blackfoot, since that was the tribe indigenous to these parts. He had
a knife and right before I woke up he had the knife on my head, just
above my forehead. Scully, he was going to scalp me!" Mulder had to
lean his head back and close his eyes. His head was throbbing again.
But he had to get this across to Scully.
"Mulder, relax. Whatever you have to say can wait. You need to get
some rest."
"No, Scully, listen to me." He was determined to continue and she knew
there'd be no stopping him. "Remember that map I was looking for the
other day?" Was that only yesterday? "The map I got from Albert
Holstein?"
"Yes..." Scully was afraid of what was coming next.
"On that map, this area, the area the compound is on, was clearly
listed as having been the sight of a sacred Blackfoot burial ground."
"And?" Scully didn't really want to know, but she felt she should at
least pretend.
"Don't you see? Jeremiah wakes up screaming, grabbing his chest. A
chest X-ray shows an arrowhead. Your autopsy shows he bled to death,
from a puncture wound. But there's no weapon to be found and no
punctured skin. Bo wakes up from a nightmare holding his head,
screaming in pain and becomes almost comatose instantly. Don't you
get it Dana? Bo was scalped." Mulder sat back again. He was fairly
certain that if the lights were on, he would be seeing double right
about now.
"Mulder..." For once Scully didn't have a snappy comeback to his
outrageous theory. After seeing Jeremiah's chest x-ray and looking
inside his chest cavity, she didn't know what to believe. "Why? Why is
this happening? Do you suppose the Blackfoot are angry?" She couldn't
believe she had just asked that question. Validating his theory in the
process.
Mulder smiled but said nothing. He knew these things were hard for her
to accept and he didn't want to push his luck. "I guess," he answered.
"Why else all this torture?"
"But why now? Why only in the last couple of weeks?"
"I don't know, maybe...hey, wasn't it listed in the case file that one
of the men died? A couple of weeks ago?"
"I vaguely remember reading that somewhere." Scully thought for a
moment. It was a true testament to Mulder's injuries that he couldn't
remember everything he had read in the case file the day before.
"Parker," she said. "Joe Parker, he was the oldest Yeoman, about 80.
The FBI figured he died of natural causes. Only found out about it
because Jacobs insisted on having a coffin delivered to the compound."
"That's it Scully, they buried the guy in the compound. The Blackfoot
are angry. They're mad, they don't want to share their burial ground
with the same white men that put them there in the first place."
Mulder was giddy, completely sucked into his theory.
Scully laughed, surprising even herself. "I have to hand it to you
Mulder, this is truly one of your more outlandish claims and I
actually, honest to God, think I agree with you."
"Will wonders never cease. Now all we have to do is convince Jacobs
it's not the FBI and..." Mulder's words were cut short by a loud
crashing sound. Like a window being broken. He tightened his grip on
Scully's hand.
"Thornley?" Scully asked.
"I don't think so. I'd like to think the guy would be a little more
subtle."
All hell was breaking loose. From where Mulder and Scully sat, they
could hear people running, screaming, women sobbing. Jacobs' voice
came thundering through the kitchen, perilously close to the closet
door.
"Brothers, it's time to make our move. It's time to get out of here."
Inside the Compound
2 AM
Dixie had spent the majority of the night calming down
Tenille and the four other women in the compound. All of
them had seen Jacobs drunk before, but never had they
witnessed the maniacal hatred he now possessed, or the cruelty
he seemed capable of inflicting on the Federal Agent in the
closet. After settling them all down with some chamomile tea,
she watched until each one fell into fitful slumber before
allowing herself to rest.
She had the satisfaction of noting that Bo seemed to be
responding to the arnica infusion she had been giving him.
The plant grew wild, right outside the back porch of the
compound. <Once again, Gran, you knew what you were
talking about,> Dixie thought with a smile as she adjusted the
blanket on Bo. Her great grandmother had been in her
eighties when Dixie had spent a summer with her in the back
hills of Tennessee. The old woman was the local wildcrafter,
making medicines from the plants and trees that grew in the
hillocks and valleys. Dixie had thought it foolishness at first.
Sure, her mother had used aloe and chamomile, peppermint
and the like. But it would never take the place of a real doctor
and hospital. After spending a summer watching her Gran
'cure' any number of ailments of her neighbors, Dixie had
started paying more attention when the old woman spoke.
"A little more 'tea', a lot more rest, and you'll be up
catching me some more squirrels for stew, Bo," Dixie
whispered to the sleeping young man. His breathing was much
easier and deeper, his color better and the fever seemed to
have gone down. She almost went into the kitchen to make up
some more of the 'tea', but she didn't want to wake the others,
especially Jacobs, who seemed to have drunk himself into a
stupor. Dixie wasn't fooled. She knew Jacobs was scheming
about something because she had seen him set the battered old
alarm clock. He was planning on doing something before
daybreak, because the compound was usually up and moving
around by dawn.
Finally, in exhaustion, Dixie pulled a pillow off one of the
other chairs and laid down on the floor next to the loveseat Bo
was on. She wanted to be close, in case he had a nightmare
like Jeremiah.
She startled when she heard the muffled cry from the
closet. At first, she was afraid that Jacobs had woken up and
gone in to batter Agent Mulder some more. But she looked
over and saw Jacobs, sleeping with a rifle across his lap, next
to the window. She thought about going to the closet, to see
if everything was all right. The only thought stopping her was
that of Jacobs waking. She wasn't afraid for herself. She had
been honest when she told him she had nothing to lose. But
she was afraid for the young couple locked in the closet. If
John got angry at her, she knew he would use it as an excuse
to hurt them. So far, the young woman had been unharmed.
If Dixie had her way, she would remain so. And her husband,
though beaten pretty badly, was still alive.
<Jeremiah, are you waiting for me?> she sighed, allowing
her mind to drift to thoughts of her own husband. <I miss
your old bones.> She let a single tear stray from her eye as
she tried to find some sleep herself.
A tremendous crash brought her immediately to her feet,
along with waking most of the compound. Jacobs was on his
feet, rifle at the ready, just having missed an untimely death by
inches. Glass littered the floor and in the middle of the room,
the old piece of granite boulder that had been Joe Parker's
headstone sat like some kind of bomb, waiting to explode.
Outside the compound
2 AM
Walter Skinner got out of the rental car and made his way
among the dozen or so vehicles lining the gravel road. He
could see his old friend, Spence Thornley, pacing and
gesturing toward the compound.
"Spence, any word on what's going on?" Skinner asked
without greeting.
"Walter, God it's good to see you," Thornley exclaimed and
grabbed the Assistant Director's outstretched hand. "No, no
word." He caught the concerned look on his friend's face. "Of
course, they haven't thrown out any bodies, either. I'm taking
that as a good sign."
Skinner nodded grimly. "What's the word from higher up?"
Thornley closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Well, they
didn't use the words, 'sit on our thumbs',. but the message was
conveyed."
Skinner bristled. "Do they know there are two agents
being held hostage in there," he cried angrily.
Now it was Thornley's turn to bristle. "No, Walt, I think
I forgot to mention that," he seethed sacastically. "Of course I
told them! But you know Bureau policy as well as I do. We
don't negotiate for our own. The exact quote, by the way, was
'they knew the risks'. My hands are tied," he said, letting some
of the anger slip away. "And so are yours," he added, not
unkindly. "We are not to make a move unless he starts killing
innocents."
"He already killed a Federal Agent," Skinner said pointedly.
Thornley's anger rose again. "Yeah, one of *my* men!
But Walt, that doesn't change the orders. And quite frankly,
nothing short of a bomb would change them at this point.
Everybody's still reeling from the Waco hearings."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Agent
Thornley and AD Skinner heard the crash and all eyes flew to
the compound.
"What the hell was that?" Skinner shouted to the agents
closest to the fence around the compound. One of them
turned and ran over to the two older men.
"Sir, it looked like, . . .this is going to sound crazy," the
younger agent was saying, all the while looking back over his
shoulder at the clapboard building.
"You wouldn't believe what I find crazy, Agent. Just tell
me exactly what you saw," Skinner ordered.
"Well, sir, the Brotherhood buried some old man over there
just to the east of the house. They put him by a big rock, that's
about two and a half, three feet in diameter. It was too big to
move, I imagine. Looked like they chiseled his name on it and
the date, from what we could see. Anyway, that rock just . . .
it up and flew through the window! Like somebody threw it.
Sir."
Thornley had pulled up a pair of binoculars and was
scanning the compound. "The lights just went on. They're
moving around, but I can't tell if anyone was injured. My God,
Walt, look at that window!" He handed the glasses to
Skinner.
Skinner let out a low whistle. "Damn! That thing broke
the sill and everything. How much did it weigh?" he asked,
knowing no one around could answer that question. He
looked around the ground, noting the distrubed dirt where the
rock had laid. "And it must have traveled, what? Twenty feet
or more," he said in awe.
Inside the compound
2:30 AM
Jacobs was furious. Now, the FBI was throwing boulders
at the house. Or so he would have his men believe. Secretly,
the appearance of the large rock, much too heavy to be lifted
by even two or more men, unnerved him completely. But he
still had the presense of mind to see an opportunity when it
came to him.
"Look at this! They could have killed Dixie, or Bo or any
of us," he shouted to the assembled Brotherhood. "We have
no choice. It's time to leave this place, just like Dixie said
Jeremiah told her. We must leave now, before they start
shooting, like they did at Ruby Ridge."
At the mention of Ruby Ridge, the men grew sullen and
restless. It was a nightmare each of them had shared. It was
one of the reasons they rejected the interference of the
government in the first place. Unlike Waco, the victims of
Ruby Ridge were a family, and by most accounts, a law
abiding one at that. There had been no indication that they
were anything other than people who wanted to be left alone,
not unlike the Brotherhood itself. And among the casualities
was a 14 year old boy gunned down in cold blood by two
agents. At the mention of Ruby Ridge, there wasn't a man
present who wouldn't follow John Jacobs off the highest cliff
in Montana.
Jacobs motioned for the women to come over. "Now, I
want you all to gather up as many provisions as you can find.
Blankets, food, wood, if you can carry it. And we need to
make a litter for Bo, I don't think he'll be walking for a while."
Five solemn faces nodded in compliance. Only Dixie had the
forwardness to ask a question.
"What about the agent and the doctor?" she asked. She
wasn't all that pleased that Jacobs was taking to her suggestion
so readily. He was up to no good and she knew it. But after
the show she had put on the day before, she was hardly in a
position to argue the logic of moving.
Jacobs thought a moment. He still might find a use for
them. The alternative was leaving their bodies to be found by
the assault team outside the fence, but he doubted that the men
would take kindly to killing the woman. After all, she had
tried to help Bo and seemed to be an innocent in all of this.
Not that he cared, but he knew his men and they would.
"All right, Dixie. You can get them ready. But he walks or
he's dead and left behind, understand?" he said gruffly and
turned to direct the men in gathering up the weapons and
ammunition.
Dixie held her tongue and nodded, hurrying off to the
closet as fast as she could.
----------
Dana hadn't wanted to fall sleep. She was tired, exhausted
really, but she wouldn't allow her eyes to close. Even so, she
had dozed, waking with his muffled cries as she held him tight.
In the five or so hours that they had been held in the closet, his
fever had grown worse. He had been having nightmares off
and on. Then, his theory of the sacred Blackfoot burial
ground and the ghost of revenge had surfaced. Without
hearing it come from his own voice, she was starting to
wonder if it was nothing more than just another fever dream.
She wasn't happy listening to his breathing, either. It was
labored and she was becoming more and more concerned that
he might have a punctured lung. The flashlight had revealed
that the hot water had scalded his arm to a point of third
degree burns. Without treatment, he would undoubtedly have
an infection to contend with. The situation was bordering on
hopeless.
<Hopeless,> she thought bitterly. <Again.> She
sometimes wished she had taken a different path. If she had
gone into, say, plastic surgery, or obstetrics. . . The rumble of
her stomach and the slight dizziness she was feeling reminded
her that there was someone else to consider. She hadn't eaten
since a hurried breakfast before she had gone to perform the
autopsy. <That was a few million light years ago,> she mused.
She could hear the Brotherhood outside their door. It had
been a while since she and Mulder had heard the crash. It
sounded like a bomb had been dropped on the place, broken
glass and shouts. Jacobs' voice had frightened her to the bone.
But then, nothing happened. They were left in silence to
wonder what was going on outside the storage closet door.
Her eyes kept sliding shut on her, her body betraying her
best intentions. Finally, she dozed.
She was standing in a field. A meadow, really, surrounded
on all sides by white capped mountains. Flowers bloomed,
making the meadow a crazy quilt of colors and scents. As she
looked to her right, a man walked toward her. The sun was in
her eyes, and she expected it to be Mulder. As he drew closer,
she could see that it was not. It was a man, obviously Native
American, wearing buckskin leather and trimmed in feathers.
He was saying something to her, but she couldn't hear the
words. He lifted a stick he held, and she watched him,
mesmerized as he picked up a sprig of the plant at his feet and
offered it to her. . .
When she heard the lock click, she jumped. Coming
instantly awake, she gripped the flashlight, ready to use it as a
weapon in case Jacobs planned on using Fox for a
punching bag again. When the bright light of the hallway
spilled into the closet, though, it was Dixie's tiny frame that
was silhouetted.
"Dixie," she whispered gruffly. "Are you alone?"
"For now, child. For now. How's he doing?" she asked,
motioning over to Mulder.
Dana gave her husband a hard look in the glare of the
hallway light. He was dozing again, too. But he was far too
pale and she could see the sheen of sweat on this face. "Not
good. He's got a concussion. I'm worried that one of the
broken ribs might have punctured a lung. And that burn is
third degree, it needs to be treated." She looked past the old
woman to see Tenille and some of the others packing up items
in the kitchen. "Dixie, what was that noise? It sounded like a
bomb went off?"
"Almost, but not quite. Old man Parkers' tombstone
decided to come through the window, right next to where
John was sleeping. Sure made that drunk sit up and take
notice," Dixie couldn't hold back a soft chuckle. "But now
John's decided that we have to leave here."
"A tombstone? Through the window? I doubt that is was
Thornley or any of the men outside the compound," Dana
mused softly.
"Honey, I don't think *any* human could have lifted that
stone. Strange things are happenin'. And John's gettin' himself
spooked." Dixie didn't notice the slight scowl that crossed
Dana's face.
Mulder stirred in his sleep, coughing. It was a wet sound
and Dixie frowned at the noise it made in the small closet.
Dana forgot all about the tombstone and turned her attention
to matters more immediate. "Dixie, are there any medicines
here in the compound? Neosporin, Tylenol, cough syrup, any
of that?" Dana asked anxiously.
Dixie chewed on her lip. "All that run out weeks ago,
honey. We're down to the bare nubbins, here. The food I've
been fixin' is mostly squirrel stew. The only thing we have in
good supply is John's Jim Beam and he's hording that for
hisself." At Dana's worried expression, she decided to take a
chance. "How fixed are you on modern medicine?" she asked.
Dana looked at the older woman suspiciously. "Very.
Why do you ask?"
"You're a *real* doctor, aren't you, then?" Dixie
responded.
"Yes, I'm a medical doctor. But I don't practice. I'm a
forensic pathologist. A coroner, sort of."
"And they sent you in to help Bo?" Dixie asked, not hiding
the surprise in her voice. "That figures," she added with
disgust.
Dana fumed a little. "Look, I'm the only one out there who
had *any* medical experience at all. And I've taken care of
my share of live patients. This one included," she said, gently
brushing the sweat soaked hair off Mulder's forehead.
"From the looks of it, that probably comes in real handy,"
Dixie said derisively. "Well, I've done my share of
*doctorin* too. But not the Journal of American Medicine
way. I can take care of that burn and probably do something
for the lungs and his head, if you let me. But you have to trust
what I'm doing and not ask too many questions."
Dana stared at her. "I can't do that," she said flatly.
"Even if it means he might die," Dixie flared. "Listen to
me, girl. John says we're packin' up. And I'm supposed to get
you two ready to move with us. Now, that's the good news,
coz it means John's not plannin' on killin' you. But the bad
news is, your man here's gotta walk on his own. Otherwise,
John puts a bullet in his head and the rest of us go on without
him." Dixie slowed down a little as she saw Dana turn ghostly
pale. "I don't want that, and neither do you. Now are you
gonna take what help I can offer, or is the alternative that
appealing?"
Dana's slow shake of her head was all the answer Dixie
needed. "Mulder," she said quietly as Dixie started to leave.
"What?" Dixie asked, afraid the young woman might have
lost all sense of reality.
"His name is Mulder. Don't call him 'my man'. Please.
Especially around Jacobs," she pleaded.
"You got a name, too, or do I just call you 'Doc'?" Dixie let
a smile form on her weary face.
Dana smiled in return. "Dana. Dana Scully."
Dixie looked over at the man sleeping on the floor.
"Mulder Scully. His mama must have had a *hard* time in
labor," she said with conviction. And for the first time in
almost 24 hours, Dana had something to laugh about.
-------
Dixie had been gone a while and Dana was beginning to get
worried. Mulder was in no condition to stand, much less walk
that far. It would have been better if they could carry him, but
it was not going to be allowed. The only thing that might save
them was the slim chance that Thornley had been given the go
ahead to storm the compound.
"Fat chance of that," she muttered, staring the door in the
darkness.
"Of the cavalry coming?" a husky voice asked beside her.
"Hey, you're awake," she said, rubbing his arm and
shoulder. "How are you feeling?"
"We have to find a different pick up line for you, Scully" he
gasped, trying to make his voice sound stronger than it was.
He tried unsuccessfully to push himself into a sitting position.
His groan alerted her to how difficult it would be for him to
walk.
"Yeah, well, I'm off the market, so I don't need a new line,"
she shot back, and helped him get comfortable. He could tell
by the tone of her voice that she was worried. "Do you think
you could walk, if you had to?"
"Probably," he lied. "Not far," he added, trying to be
realistic.
"Jacobs wants to move out. Dixie says he's taking us with
them. I guess we're still 'insurance' to him. But you have to be
able to walk. I don't know if that's possible, in your
condition," she sighed.
"If you can walk in 'your condition', . . . I can . . . walk in
'my condition'," he assured her.
"Well, Dixie has some, ah, tea I guess, that might help,"
Dana said unconvinced. <If it doesn't poison you first,> she
added to herself.
"Tea?" he asked. "You don't . . . sound so sure . . . about
this, ah, tea," he said, imitating her hesitation.
Their conversation was cut short by Dixie coming in with a
cup in her hand. "Here, I want you to drink this. Now, it's
hot, and we're out of sugar, but it will help, I'm sure of it," the
old woman said, smiling brightly.
"What is it?" Dana asked, taking the cup and sniffing it
suspiciously.
"Arnica," Dixie replied, taking the cup back and helping
Mulder sip from it. "Leopard's bane is what some folks call it.
Grows wild here, right outside the back door." After the first
sip, Mulder made a face and shook his head. She took the cup
back and poured a small amount onto a torn piece of flannel.
"Here, lift up his shirt," she directed Dana. Hesitantly, the
young woman did as she was told.
"This is hot, but it will help with those broken bones,"
Dixie said, pressing the damp cloth onto his side. He hissed
with the pain, but said nothing.
"What is in that stuff?" Dana demanded, not able to hold
her curiosity in check.
"Told you, honey. It's arnica. Old Indian remedy. My
Gran swore by it. Good for concussions, broke bones, shock,
pain, you name it. But just a sip at a time. More'an that and
he might not wake up," she said casually.
"It's poisonous?!" Dana exclaimed. "It sounds like 'snake
bite medicine'!"
"Nah, child. You wouldn't use arnica for snakebite. You'd
use black cohosh or purple cornflower. Course, out where
you folks hail from, you'd use Virginny snakeroot. Can't get
purple cornflower east of the Mississippi, Gran always said."
She continued to dampen the cloth and gently press it against
the ribs.
After a few minutes, Mulder took hold of Scully's hand. "I
don't know if it counts for anything, but it doesn't hurt as much
when I breath," he said, not really wanting to anger his wife,
but feeling very relieved that the home remedy was working.
"Probably the early stages of severe toxic shock," Scully
said in disgust. But she did nothing to stop Dixie's
ministrations.
Dixie let a sad, warm smile fall on Dana. "Oh, honey, I was
just like you once. I didn't buy that stuff Gran told me for a
minute. But I saw her do more good with a backyard full of
weeds and a couple of old flannel shirts than all the fancy
doctors in all the hospitals in Nashville, Tennessee. How do
you think the human race survived before they thought up X-
rays and che-mo-therapy, and all those fancy computers?
People been doctoring *this* way a whole lot longer than your
way, Dana," she said gently. "And a whole lot of them lived to
tell of it."
"He still needs a hosptial," Dana muttered angrily, but
neither of the other two people in the room seemed to pay her
much mind.
Dixie took her hand and pressed it against the cloth still on
Mulder's side. "Hold this here, till I get back. Now we'll see
what we can do about that burn." And she left them alone in
the closet again.
Mulder smiled weakly at his wife. "Sorry," he said, his
voice full of meaning.
"Sorry for what? That you're feeling better? That's the
dumbest thing you've said today, Mulder," she spat out bitterly
and immediately regretted it.
"No, I'm sorry that I'm causing you to lose another piece of
your faith, sweetheart. I know that hurts you. That's why I'm
sorry," he said, and closed his eyes. Even Scully had to admit
that his breathing didn't seem as labored.
3:00 A.M.
Outside the compound
"I don't like it Spence," Skinner was saying, still staring through
the binoculars into the compound. "They look like they're moving
around with a purpose. Like they're going somewhere."
"Let me see." Thornley took the binoculars from his old friend. "Any
sign of Mulder or Scully?" he asked, knowing what the answer would be.
"No, nothing." Skinner couldn't help the dejection in his voice.
"You're right, Walt," Thornley interrupted. "For three a.m. they're
awfully focused. Maybe this is our break," he said, putting down the
binoculars. "If they're planning on going somewhere there's only a
front door and a back door. We've got both of them covered."
"You sure there are no other exits?" Skinner was scanning what he
could see of the compound from where he stood.
"Pretty sure," Thornley replied, a mixture of dread and anticipation
on his weary face.
3:00 A.M.
Inside the compound
"Tenille, what the hell are you doing?" John Jacobs could have used a
couple more hours sleep to sober up and poor Tenille was caught in the
middle of his current outburst.
The young woman was kneeling beside Bo, placing a small, red silk
pouch on a string around his neck. "I made Bo an amulet," she
answered, almost whispered, to the floor.
"A what?"
"An amulet. It's kinda like a good luck charm. It's supposed to help
him heal quicker."
"Oh for God's sake! Get the hell out of here and go do what I asked
you."
Tenille didn't dare look at Jacobs. She dropped the silk pouch gently
on Bo's chest and practically ran out of the room.
"We have 30 minutes everybody," Jacobs shouted at no one in
particular. "We need to be ready to go in 30 minutes." The big man
surveyed the room, the broken window, the stone with old man Parker's
name carved into it. He felt a chill go through him. Thirty minutes is
going to be 30 minutes too long, he thought to himself. He hurried
away from the rock, spooked, in search of his Jim Beam stash.
Both Mulder and Scully stiffened when they heard the lock to the
closet being opened. Whatever Dixie had given Mulder had helped, but
he was still in no condition to face an angry Jacobs and from what
they had just heard, he was not a happy man.
Both agents relaxed when they saw Dixie's small frame enter the
closet. Her arms were full and Dana was relieved to see the first aid
kit she had brought with her to the compound. She could think of no
other reason why this made her happy than the simple fact that it
represented medicine in her terms. The way she knew it. Familiarity
breeds comfort, she thought grimly.
"How you feelin'?" Dixie asked, touching Mulder gently on the leg.
"Better," he said honestly, attempting to sit up a little to prove it.
"Good," Dixie said matter of factly, "'cause John just said we got 30
minutes to get out of here. That's how long you've got to get your
strength up."
"Surely he must know the place is surrounded," Scully said. "He can't
possibly think he's going to walk out of here and they're going to let
him go. He's already killed one agent..." Her voice trailed off, she
knew Jacobs was capable of killing again and it was all she could do
to erase the mental image of Jacobs towering over Mulder.
"Oh child," Dixie said, resting her hand tenderly on Scully's
shoulder. "We ain't going out any door. We're going out our very own
tunnel. It's been here for years. Longer than me or you have been on
this Earth. Probably ain't on no map either."
Realization struck Scully just moments before the panic hit. An
underground tunnel. Probably an old mine shaft. Who knew how long it
was, how deep. They could be buried alive in one of those things and
never be found. And Mulder...he would never survive miles and miles
through a mine tunnel. No matter what Dixie gave him.
The closet was suddenly too small. She couldn't breathe. By the time
Mulder realized what was happening she was hyperventilating. He took
her hands into his, forcing himself to turn and face her.
"Dana, look at me," he said, demanding his voice to sound
authoritative and strong. She was staring right through him. His words
were muffled. She felt alone. So alone. "Dana...Scully, it's going to
be okay. Slow down and take a deep breath." Panic was slowly creeping
into Mulder's voice. Scully didn't crack easily. He blamed himself for
all of it. If only he hadn't pursued his conversation with Jacobs into
the compound. If only... If only what? His head screamed. He had to
bring her back. He didn't care what happened to him, but Scully,
nothing could happen to her. He would die before letting anything
happen to her.
Dixie quickly sensed the situation and left the couple, only to return
a minute later with a warm cup in her hand and two slices of bread.
Mulder had managed to get Scully's attention and she was taking deep
breaths, hanging on to him for dear life.
"Here, drink this," Dixie said, holding the brown mug up to Scully's
lips. She surprised even Mulder by drinking the liquid without
hesitation.
"That's a good girl," Dixie was saying. "You just relax and drink this
all up. You'll be feelin' better in no time."
Scully finished her tea without saying a word. The hot liquid felt
good inside her empty stomach. She was just beginning to realize how
hungry she was when she closed her eyes and leaned her head against
the wall.
"What did you give her?" Mulder asked Dixie.
"Raspberry tea. Chamomile is better for calming the old nerves, but
raspberry helps prevent miscarriage. I thought..."
"What?" Mulder sucked in his breath at the pain the sudden movement
caused him.
"Calm down, son," Dixie said, checking the wet flannel over Mulder's
rib cage. "I didn't say she was *havin'* a miscarriage. The tea just
helps keep everything in place is all.
Mulder wasn't convinced. He looked over at Scully who had opened her
eyes and was staring right at him. "I'm okay," she whispered. Mulder
read her eyes for any doubt. Any trace she might be keeping something
from him. "Really," she said. "I'm fine. I just panicked for a minute.
Thank you," she said, turning to face Dixie. "I think the tea worked."
Her sudden calmness was unsettling to her husband but he held himself
in check, realizing that a panic attack from him was the last thing
any of them needed.
Dixie smiled. "If only everything in life could be solved with a cup
of tea, Jeremiah would say to me. You'd be runnin' the country,
Dixie." She looked at the young couple in front of her and felt an
overwhelming desire to cry. For her husband. For herself. For their
lives. She had a sinking feeling the worst part was still ahead of
them.
She shook herself out of her reverie and casually wiped her face,
surprised to find she had shed no tears.
"We better get this show on the road here," she said to Scully. "We
need to take care of your man's...I mean, Mulder's burn."
Scully nodded and Mulder protectively pulled his hand closer to his
body. He had become accustomed to the pain and wasn't looking forward
to Dixie's aid, helpful as it might be.
Dixie noticed his reaction but ignored it and continued. There really
was very little time left. "I've got some aloe here, fresh off the
plant just a couple days ago. I've used it all over since I was a wee
one. Works wonders." She looked at Scully before continuing, making
sure it was all sinking in. Who knew what the next few hours had in
store for them, let alone the next few days. She wanted Dana Scully to
know what she was doing, in case the time came when she wasn't around
to help. Maybe God would be kind to her and let her join old Jeremiah
before too long. She noticed Mulder had leaned his head back against
the wall and had closed his eyes. Just as well, Dixie thought, this
isn't going to be pleasant for him.
"I'm going to put the aloe on the burn," Dixie continued, "and then
some of this here purple cornflower." Dixie held up a strand of dark
purple leaves and Scully nodded. It was obvious to her that Dixie
wanted, no, expected, her to pay attention.
"The combination of the two will amaze you, my boy." She had caught a
small amount of fear creeping onto the young man's face and was hoping
her words would soothe him.
"I brought your first aid kit, Dana," Dixie continued, wishing she had
a little more time to work on her bedside manner and possibly
alleviate some of Mulder's fears. "I noticed some bandages in there.
When I'm done I trust you can wrap it all up nicely."
Scully nodded again. She felt so helpless. And so indebted to this
tiny woman. The woman whose husband's body she had been probing not
too long ago. Would Dixie forgive her if she knew?
Mulder's gasp and quick intake of breath brought Scully out of her
stupor. Thoughts of Jeremiah Miller and his bizarre death would have
to wait.
Dixie was spreading the aloe on Mulder's hand with her bare fingers
and even though she was being extremely gentle, Mulder was not having
an easy time of it. Scully squeezed his good hand and brushed some
sweat drenched hair away from his forehead. She was grateful he wasn't
looking at the burn. The red streaks that had surfaced in the last
hour were a sure indication that infection was setting in. She caught
herself praying that Dixie knew what she was doing.
When she had used up all the aloe she had with her, Dixie gently put
the cornflower leaves on the burn, making sure to overlap them and not
leave any area untouched.
"There, isn't that a pretty sight," she said lightly to Mulder, who
managed to give her a weak smile in return. Dixie turned to Scully.
"Dana, you finish bandaging up this hand and arm, making sure the
leaves stay in place. When you're done I want you both to eat this
bread." Dixie pointed to the two slices of homemade bread she had
brought in earlier. "It's my mama's recipe. It ain't much, but it's
all I got. And it's more 'an you two have had in a while. Maybe more
'an you'll get in a while too," she finished softly.
She turned to Mulder before leaving. "I hope you can walk out of here,
son," she said. "I've done all I can. Now it's up to you. I'll be back
for ya both in 15 minutes.
She was out of the closet before either one could say anything.
Mulder picked up his slice of bread and handed it to Scully. "You have
it," he said. "I'm not hungry."
"God damn you Mulder. You are so predictable." Scully had been on an
emotional see saw for the last 24 hours, not to mention the last 15
minutes and Mulder's chivalry was more than she could handle. More
than she wanted to deal with right now. "You need to eat this bread as
much as I do. If not more. I guarantee you Jacobs wasn't kidding when
he said you would have to walk out of here or stay behind dead. You
need your strength..." she knew she couldn't go on without her voice
betraying her. She was so close to the edge. So close to falling into
an abyss of hopelessness.
Mulder looked at her slowly. The throbbing in his head, his side, his
hand...had all become a loud pounding. Every hair and fiber in his
body told him to close his eyes and just hope the bullet would kill
him instantly. He wasn't sure how far he could walk. And through a
mine shaft of all things. It would be easier for Scully if he was left
behind.
"Scully, I...you..." What could he possibly say to her that would
convey everything he was feeling in the short amount of time they had
left together? The time they had left together alone?
He was still feverish and Scully couldn't tell if the moistness around
his eyes was the fever speaking or tears he was attempting to hold
back.
"Mulder," she finally said, almost reading his mind, "eat the bread.
We'll get out of this alive. I know it. Don't even think otherwise.
Don't even think my life would be worth half of what it is without
you."
"But Scully, if I hadn't..."
"Shut up, Mulder. If you hadn't what? Whatever you were going to say,
don't. Just eat the damn bread. We'll be fine."
Mulder smiled in spite of himself. He was grateful to his wife for her
strength and determination. Two things he was severely lacking right
about now. "What makes you so sure," he asked with a mouth full of
bread.
"I just know."
Mulder arched his eyebrows. "That's not like you Dana. You've got my
curiosity up," he teased, purposely relaxing a little.
"Missy told me," Scully answered slowly, unable to look at him. The
conversation with her sister, the ghost of her sister, she reminded
herself sadly, just before her wedding, was giving her what little
strength she had left.
"She told you what? That we would be kidnapped by some alcoholic
madman who makes Atilla the Hun look like Peter Brady, dragged through
a mine shaft in less than stellar condition and come out the other
end smelling rosy?
"Very funny," Scully said, repressing a smile. Mulder didn't even
question the fact that her sister had been dead for nearly a year. She
supposed that was one of the reasons why she loved him. There was very
little he *ever* questioned. "She told me about our three kids."
Scully said, leaning closer to her husband and looking him straight in
the eyes. "So you better get your butt in gear and come out of that
tunnel smelling rosy, if you expect another chance to procreate. Much
less two more chances."
Mulder's reply was cut short by Dixie's voice. When she opened the
door and faced them she was grim and sullen. "It's time," she
whispered quietly, extending her hand to Mulder. "I hope you have it
in you, boy. Something's got John spooked and he's not takin' kindly
to anyone right now."
3:30 A.M.
Outside the compound
"Sir! Sir!" A young agent, one of the men standing guard close to the
compound, was frantically trying to get Thornley's attention on the
two way radio.
"What is it Sullivan?" Thornley was only about 50 feet away and
decided to head in the direction of his young agent. Skinner was right
behind him.
"I can see Agents Mulder and Scully, Sir."
"What?" Before Thornley could see or say anything else Skinner had
grabbed the binoculars from his grip.
"It's them all right," Skinner said.
"What are they doing?" It was all Thornley could do to keep himself
from pulling the binoculars away from Skinner. Instead he ran the last
few yards to Agent Sullivan and commandeered the young man's
binoculars for himself.
"It looks like they're being led somewhere." Skinner could feel the
sweat building on the palms of his hands. He didn't like it "Mulder
looks like shit," he said, mostly to himself. "Something's wrong with
his hand...it's all bandaged up and...he looks...he looks like he's
having a hard time breathing."
"Probably broken ribs," Thornley said absently before catching the
sense of dread coming from his friend. "Agent Scully looks okay," he
added, to reassure Skinner as well as himself that not everything was
out of control.
"For now," Skinner noted roughly. "Where are they going? What's on
that side of the compound?"
"Just more rooms. Bedrooms I think."
"A back door?"
"No, the back door's on the other side. Behind the kitchen."
"You sure?"
Thornley put down the binoculars and scanned the clapboard building.
"I'm sure," he said, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. Why is
everyone headed in that direction? he wondered. Too many frightening
thoughts were beginning to crowd his brain for attention. Maybe it was
time to sacrifice someone. An agent? Two agents? The entire
Brotherhood? His dread became unbearable when a young woman with very
long, blonde hair approached the window and began pulling the curtains
shut.
The last thing they saw was Jacobs pushing Mulder along with the butt
of his rifle.
Skinner was furious. "That's it, Spence. We have to do something. I
can't just stand here and watch two of my best agents being dragged
around by some madman."
Skinner was already halfway to the tent, his long strides telling
everyone to stay clear.
"Walt, we can't just storm in there. If we do that you might as well
start funeral arrangements for both agents." Thornley was by Skinner's
side. It was Skinner's assertiveness and determination that had gotten
him where he was in the bureau and he didn't think there was much that
could stop him now. These two agents meant something to him, that was
certain. Thornley just had to make sure the next step they took was
based on skill and experience and not emotions.
"Walt, listen to me." They were at the tent and Skinner was
frantically searching the room for something. Thornley ignored his
questioning glances and continued talking. "I know you care about
these two agents. All the more reason why we need to handle this
carefully. We act too quickly, without thinking things through and it
might cost them their lives." Thornley wasn't getting through.
Skinner had apparently found what he was looking for. The Phone. He
held up the receiver and began dialing a number.
"What are you doing? Who are you calling?"
"The Attorney General. Just as a formality at this point. To tell her
we're going in."
Thornley just stood there, staring at his friend. He wasn't mad at
him. Actually, he admired what he was doing. His resolve. It took a
lot of balls to call the Attorney General at three in the morning just
to *tell* her what you were going to do. He wished he could be a fly
on the wall in Janet's bedroom when she answered the phone.
Skinner was waiting to be put through, contemplating his next move,
when he looked up at Thornley and appeared to notice him for the first
time. "She's pregnant," he said somberly. "Scully's pregnant."
Spencer Thornley stared at Walter Skinner's emotionless face for a
long time before finding a chair he could collapse into. He barely
heard Skinner shouting into the phone. "I don't give a damn about
protocol or Waco and even less about the fact that it's an election
year. These are two of my best agents. Two people that have risked
their lives and lost a lot on a personal level in the name of our
glorified country. It's time we take some responsibility here..."
Thornley didn't need to hear anything else. He stood up and went
outside. Time to gather the team, he thought. He should have done this
days ago.
Inside the Compound
3:30 am
Dana made her way gingerly down the rickety ladder. It looked
ancient and she wondered how it had held her partner's weight, much
less that of any of the larger men of the group. Only she, Dixie and
Jacobs had yet to make the descent and now it was her turn. She
looked down, and realized she had a good twenty feet to go before she
reached the Coleman lanterns and Mulder waiting at the bottom. The
mine shaft was fairly large, at least ten feet across. It's just a
basement, she tried to convince herself. A very big, very narrow,
very long basement.
Damn you, Bill Jr, she cursed silently. If her older brother had
never locked her in the basement as a small child, she never would
have discovered how horrible small tight places could be. Usually,
claustrophobia was the last thought on her mind. When they were on a
case, she was always too intent on doing her job to worry about it.
But with all the worrying she was currently doing, the fear seemed to
rise to the top, like oil on water. She tried to shove it to the back
of her mind, but it kept popping up and making it's presence known.
Getting Mulder down the ladder had been no small feat. She knew
his ribs were causing him a lot of pain and as she watched his
incredibly slow progress down, she saw him waver a time or two and
feared he would pass out. He made it, though and was watching her
descent anxiously. She shook her head at the thought that he was as
worried about her claustrophobia as she was worried about his broken
bones. We're like a matched set of bookends, she thought.
She could see Dixie above her, starting down the ladder. The old
woman was an enigma. She looked to be at least 60, but her eyes were
much younger, even cutting through the grief that hung about her like
a shroud. And agile. She was literally hopping down the rungs of the
ladder, and probably would have slid down the sides, fireman style, if
Scully had not been in the way. Hope I'm that agile when I'm 60,
Scully thought as she stumbled slightly before finding the next rung.
Hope I'm alive when I'm 60, she added ruefully. The floor was getting
closer, and the small confines were beginning to press in on her
again.
Dana stepped off the last rung and almost froze for the sheer
wave of fear that engulfed her. Sensing her terror, Mulder reached
out and touched her hand. He wanted desperately to take her in his
arms, shush all the horrifying thoughts running through her mind, but
that would only draw attention to them. As it was, the motion looked
almost gentlemanly. He looked to be steadying her on the rough mine
floor. The faint smile that crossed her face told him that it had
been enough. Message received, loud and clear. He had to grin as he
saw that business like gaze come to her eyes as she regarded their
surroundings.
Dixie took almost no time to join them. "How are you doing?" she
whispered to Mulder, glancing up the ladder to see if Jacobs was close
enough to hear her.
"Just like a ride at Disney World," he quipped, but he was
favoring the side with the damaged ribs. The old woman gave him a
disgusted shake of her head to let him know that his humor wasn't
appreciated. Scully gave him a look as well, but he caught the
twinkle in her eye in the glow of the lantern.
They didn't have time for more conversation as Jacobs jumped the
last three rungs and landed on the stone floor beside them. "You up
for a walk, Feddie? I could always make arrangements for you to stay
behind," he snarled and punctuated his feeble attempt at humor with a
grim laugh.
"I'm fine," Mulder said evenly. In reality, he hurt like hell,
but he was never going to admit that to Jacobs. He had a dull
throbbing in in his head. His eyes burned with the fever he was just
beginning to recognize. Every breath was agony. It was taking every
ounce of strength to stand, much less move, but he kept thinking of a
promise he had made not that long ago. My baby girl is going to have
a father, no ifs, ands, or buts, he vowed silently. Besides, this
bastard would enjoy it too much if he had an excuse to kill me and I'm
not going to give him the satisfaction, he added with grim
determination.
Jacobs jabbed him in the ribs, just to see the reaction. Mulder
let out a gasp, but stayed on his feet, glaring at the madman. "Well,
then, let's get moving. Those old floorboards I laid in place up
there aren't gonna hold 'em off forever." Stooping over, he picked up
the last remaining lantern and waved it in the general direction that
Bob and Henry had led the rest of the group. At the first wooden
beamed support, Jacobs picked up an ax that was waiting there for him,
and collapsed the sides and the overhead beam, then made a run for it.
Several tons of dirt and rock crashed to the mine floor, effectively
sealing off their escape.
Outside the Compound
4:00 am
It had been silent for too long. Walter Skinner had been
gripping the binoculars in his hands so tightly that he wasn't sure he
could loosen his grasp on them if he had to. He turned to Thornley.
"There's another damn exit," he hissed in frustration.
"Where?" Thornley demanded. "Thin air? I tell you Walter, I've
been to the Department of Mines and Minerals twice and there are no
mine entrances in this area. They must be in the basement or
something."
"Why would they all go down to the basement, Spence? No, they're
escaping. And they have my agents hostage. Tell your men we're going
in." Skinner put the binoculars back up to his tired eyes, ignoring
the disgusted look on his friend's face.
In the end, the storming of the Yeoman Brotherhood Compound was a
complete bust. It was deserted, just as the Assistant Director had
predicted. Worse yet, it took the FBI over two hours before one of
the agents was able to find the ladder leading down into the mine
under the false floor in one of the bedrooms. That too, proved to be
a useless discovery, since Jacobs had successfully pulled down a mine
support structure, closing the shaft just a few feet from the ladder.
Regardless of where the shaft might lead the Brotherhood, they would
not be returning to the compound by that route, and the FBI would not
be following them at any time in the near future.
Three hours later
Dixie fell back to walk next to Jacobs after having spent most of
the march at the head of the line. She made a point of ignoring
Mulder, who was obviously having a difficult time putting one foot in
front of the other. Scully had taken it upon herself to help him, but
even she was looking weighed down by his efforts.
"We need to stop and rest," Dixie said calmly.
"Why? Your G-man slowing down? Maybe I could put him outta his
misery," Jacobs suggested with an evil leer. He lifted the almost
empty bottle to his lips and drained the amber fluid down his throat.
"No," Dixie said defiantly. "It's Bo. He needs to be layin'
flat for a spell. That trip down the ladder over Henry's shoulder
wasn't that good for him. And Bob can't figure out how to keep his
litter on the level. He keeps raising up his feet higher than his
head. Any idiot knows that's not the way to handle a man with a head
pain," she spat out. Dixie had grown to hate Bob almost as much as
Jacobs, if for no other reason than that the man was dumb and
spineless and would do anything he was ordered to do.
Jacobs considered this information for a moment. The support he
had destroyed back at the ladder had effectively cut off all pursuit.
They could afford to rest a bit.
"There's a cavern up a piece. Go back up to the front and tell
Bob that we'll stop there for a spell, let everyone get some sleep.
Tell him to take first watch. I'm needing some sleep myself," he
added. Dixie nodded, totally noncommittal and headed off to relay the
message to Bob.
The cavern was indeed just a few hundred yards up the path. It
had a high ceiling, littered with stalactites and was about 50 feet by
50 feet, roughly. Water ran down the walls and collected in small
pools before disappearing into the cracks in the floor. Dana steered
Mulder over to one wall, which appeared to be relatively dry. He sank
to a sitting position gratefully.
Without hesitation, he put his hand in the trickle of water and
tasted it. "It's OK, you can drink it," he assured her. He cupped
his hand and drank greedily.
She followed his example, drinking several palmsful of water.
"And what would you have done if it hadn't been?" she asked
accusingly, when her thirst was satisfied.
"Can we wait till we get out of this to fight, Scully? I mean,
I'm not in my best form and I really hate to waste my breath arguing
over whether I should have tasted the water or let you taste the
water." He closed his eyes and shifted until he was lying more or
less flat on the rock floor.
She glanced furtively around at the others. They all appeared to
be settling down, ignoring the two hostages for the moment. She and
Mulder didn't merit a lantern, so they were in shadow. She took the
opportunity to risk brushing the matted hair from Mulder's forehead.
"Don't let them catch you doing that," he whispered, letting her
know that he was not asleep.
"I won't," she promised. "You get some rest. I'll keep an eye
out."
"You need to rest, too, you know," he countered.
"I thought you said you didn't want to fight, Mulder," she
intoned in his ear. Even so, she slid down the rock wall and lay on
the floor on her side. He opened one eye to look at her. "Nothing
says I can't keep an eye out laying down," she said and was happy to
see him grin as he shifted and settled in.
8:25 am
Jacobs had been too drunk to dream at first, but gradually the
haze lifted and he fell into REM sleep. His dreams weren't worthy of
remembering, mostly snatches of his own delusions of grandeur. But
his dreamscape began to change subtly. He found himself on a valley
floor. All around him were majestic mountains, snowcapped,
intimidating in their enormity. The sun was just about to peek out
behind one of the ridges and the shadows it cast gave the valley
meadow and it's early morning mist a ghostly glow.
Jacobs was just looking, coming to understand where he was when
he heard the first sound. It was horses hooves. Many horses. They
were sounding closer with each passing second, they were at a full
run. He looked up in front of him and saw them, coming through the
pass between two mountain ridges. Horses. At least 50 of them. Each
with a rider.
As the horses and riders approached, he began to distinguish them
better. The riders wore rough brown clothing, buckskin adorned with
feathers. He could gradually see faces, marked with color. Angry.
Screaming, waving their arms, the riders were obviously on the attack.
At that moment, John Jacobs knew fear. The attack was centered on him
and him alone.
Jacobs' own scream brought everyone in the cavern awake. He
bolted up and paced the floor, ignoring the repeated questions of his
men. Jacobs was an arrogant man and saw any weakness in another
individual as a chance for him to gain an upper hand. He did not
appreciate the fact that his men had now seen him in a weakened
position. It fed his anger even as the dream continued to feed his
fear. Since he could not take his frustrations out on any of his men,
he turned to the only outlet available: the FBI agent lying on the
floor, groggily coming awake.
Jacobs strolled over to where Mulder was laying and with a gleam
in his eyes, viciously kicked the weaker man as hard as he could in
the back. It felt so good, Jacobs did it again and again. Scully
shouted a protest, but Jacobs couldn't hear her. He was too deep in
enjoyment to hear anything but Mulder's gasps of pain. Then something
was in his way and Jacobs started to kick out at it, only to find
Dixie clutching his hands in a vise-like grip and screaming at him to
stop.
"You stupid bastard, you're killin' him!" she was shouting and
everyone in the room was deathly silent, wondering what John would do
next. He stopped kicking and stared at her. Slowly, he balled his
fist and raised it to strike at the tiny woman before him. Her
grey-blue eyes glared icily at him, but she didn't back down an inch.
If anything, she drew herself up even straighter and as much as dared
him to take a swing.
They stood that way for an incredibly long time. Finally, Jacobs
got control of himself. "Get out of my way, you dumb bitch," he
hissed. But he lowered his hand to his side. "I said, GET OUT OF THE
WAY!" he roared.
"NO!" she roared in return. "I will not let you kill this man!
He has done nothing to you. And he ain't worth nothing dead," she
added loudly, for the benefit of all those assembled. Although none
of them spoke, there were many silent nods in agreement. An eye for
an eye was one thing, and the agent that had been killed had been
armed. His life for Jeremiah's, that was a fair trade. To kill a
second agent in cold blood, that was more than many of the men were
prepared for.
Jacobs stared at her, utterly confused that she would dare stand
up to him. Slowly, his befuddlement was replaced with hatred, but he
held it in check. "One of these days, old woman, you gonna loose that
luck you been carryin'," he purred for only her ears. He was even
more angry when Dixie met his glare with one of challenge in her own
eyes.
"Too late, John. It run out the minute I met you," she hissed in
return and then knelt down to examine the damage that had been
inflicted on Agent Mulder.
"We're moving out after we get some food in us. Get him moving,
too, Dixie," Jacobs growled. "Otherwise, I still got a bullet with
his name on it."
Dixie glared up at the towering man for a second, but nodded
slowly. At this point, it was just a threat, but not entirely an idle
one. Jacobs might not have the full support of his men when it came
to killing the agent, but with a little thought, he could find an
excuse to sway them. Dixie didn't let her eyes leave Jacobs until he
had wandered over to the opposite side of the cavern to confer with
Bob and a few of the men.
"How bad is it?" she asked, letting her attention snap back to
Mulder and Dana the minute she was sure Jacobs was occupied.
Dana was running her hand gently over his back, noting his
reaction. "He probably bruised the kidney. I don't think it's
bleeding, but there's no real way to tell in here," Scully seethed,
wanting no more than to have her gun and have it out with Jacobs.
"Don't let him get to you, honey," Dixie instructed. "He wants
you two to make a wrong move. Right now, you're just a girl who
walked into the wrong place at the wrong time. If you let him get you
riled, you risk losing Mulder, here, as well as yourself and that
baby. Don't make that mistake." Dixie's voice was soft, but
controlling. Dana nodded her head once in understanding. "Now, to
answer my other question: is he gonna be able to walk?"
A soft groan escaped Mulder, who rolled onto his back. "Yes," he
said in a strained voice. "But how much longer are we going to be in
here? Dixie, do you have any idea where we're being taken?"
"Not really. Jeremiah helped John chart these tunnels. It was
an old 'mom and pop' copper mine that never really panned out. Mostly
just tunnels connecting caverns, like this one. There are a couple of
airholes that Jeremiah talked of, but I couldn't tell you if there was
more than one entrance. We could wander these tunnels for years and
never be found, but the food'll more'n likely run out by tomorrow
morning. These men don't go too far on empty stomachs. I 'spect
John's figuring on going out the entrance and then making a run for it
in the mountains. At least there's food to be found out there and
we'll be far enough from the compound that the Feddies won't find us."
Dixie sat for a moment, silently thinking. "He's running scared,
that's fer sure."
"Running scared of what? The FBI?" Dana asked, never looking up
as she wrapped Mulder's ribcage in bandages, covering the almost dry
flannel cloth.
"No, something else," Dixie said softly. "If'n I didn't know
better, I'd say ole John's got himself a ghost chasin' him. That
nightmare he had, it was more fear than meanness that he was kickin'
at you with," she said, gently patting Mulder's leg.
"Actually," Mulder started, but caught Scully's disapproving
glare. He chose to ignore it and plowed ahead. "Dixie, did you know
the compound is on the site of a Blackfoot Indian Burial Ground?"
"You believe in that nonsense?" she asked, shaking her head.
"You believe that plants can cure people," he countered
pointedly.
"Only because I've seen it, boy. Not because I listened to a
bunch of superstitious nonsense that's only to scare younguns into
goin' to bed at night," she snapped back.
Mulder couldn't help but notice the faint smile on Scully's lips.
Score one for the women, he sighed. "Then how do you explain the
rock?" he asked, first looking at Dixie, then at Dana. Both women
exchanged nervous glances. "I thought so," he nodded, satisfied with
this small victory. "Well, when you two come up with your 'reasonable
explanation', please let me in on it," he sighed and pushed himself up
into a sitting position. "Till then, Dixie, you got any more of that
snakebite medicine on you? It's the only thing that helped."
Dixie smiled and pulled out a beat up old thermos. "I filled it
up before I left. Just for you and Bo. You might look in on Bo in a
bit, Dana. He's feeling better, but I don't want him off'n that
litter till you look him over." Dixie didn't miss the look of
hesitation on Dana's face. "It's all right, child. This uns too
skinny for me. I'll keep the other women folk off him for ya, though"
she joked. It was enough to make Dana smile and go over to check on
Bo.
"So what's in this stuff again, Dixie?" Mulder asked after he had
sipped the requisite amount under her supervision.
"Arnica. It's wild. Now, I don't want you thinking you can just
pick up any ole leaf and start chewin' it, ya hear," she said sternly.
"My Gran, she spent a whole summer teachin' me the right ones and the
wrong ones. Just like with mushrooms, the wrong one can kill you and
it looks just a purty as the one that won't. But arnica shouldn't be
taken too often. It can kill you, too."
"And the stuff on my arm?" he asked. His arm was starting to
itch unbearably, but so far he had managed to leave it alone.
"Purple cornflower. Indians swore by it. Best thing to ward off
an infection. How's the arm feelin'?" she asked, taking it and
squinting at the bandages in the dim light of the distant lantern.
"It itches," he admitted.
"Good! It's healin'," she replied. "Don't scratch it," she
ordered. "You get banged up quite a bit, don't ya?"
Mulder was glad the light was low so Dixie couldn't see him
blush. "I've had my share of work related injuries," he said with
dignity.
"No wonder she married ya. Probably figgered it was easier to
take care o' ya that way," Dixie whispered with a gentle laugh at his
expense.
FBI Regional Office
Billings, Montana
8:45 am
"Furthermore, there will be no more 'middle of the night' phone
calls to the AG, am I making myself clear?!" the disembodied voice
fairly shouted out of the speaker phone.
Walter Skinner cringed. "Crystal clear, sir," he answered. It
took every ounce of strength he had to resist faxing his resignation.
This assignment had gone from bad to worse to hell in a handbasket,
and now *he* was getting called on the carpet for calling the Attorney
General. She said she didn't want another Waco, he thought angrily.
She said she wanted to be kept informed.
The Director's words were ringing in his head. Proper channels.
He, Walter Skinner, Mr. I Know the Chain of Command, had failed to use
proper channels. Fat lot of good it did me, he mused. It still took
too long and Jacobs still slipped away. That's it, he decided. If we
find them alive, Mulder and Scully are both being shipped off to Bank
Fraud and they'll become someone else's nervous breakdown.
He stared down at the half empty, bone cold coffee cup and in a
fit of self flagellation, gulped it down. Another twelve hours of
this slop and *I'll* go to Bank Fraud and let Mulder take *my* job in
VC. A knock at the door interrupted that thought.
"Walt," Spence Thornley said stepping into the office. "You all
right?"
"Yeah," he lied. "No holes that weren't already there. They're
just a little larger now," he quipped and rubbed a hand across his
forehead. "What's the word on the helicopters from the state police?"
"They'll be ready to go in a half an hour, but there's a storm
front moving across the mountains. Could make the weather dicy for
the better part of the morning. And Walter, you know we're still
talking a long shot here. They could be all the way to Canada before
they surface," Thornley sighed.
Skinner closed his eyes. He was so tired. "Then I suggest you
import some coffee, Spence. If I have to drink anymore of this mud,
I'm liable to turn homicidal."
His friend gave him a sympathetic smile. "Oh, by the way, you've
gotten a couple of phone calls," he said, handing over a small stack
of pink sheets. "Remember, it's two hours earlier in DC.
"Shit. These are mostly reporters! I don't remember. . ."
"Yeah, well, neither do I. Apparently though, the 'raid' was on
CNN this morning. Unbelievable, but the bastards actually stayed out
of the way this time. Maybe Waco *did* teach them something. But
there's one toward the bottom of the stack that you might want to
return."
"Damn it," Skinner cursed when he say who the message was from.
Margaret Scully. And she had been calling every hour since the first
report on the television.
"I recognized the last name. Dana's mom, I take it?" Thornley
asked. Skinner nodded and picked up the phone. He looked up at his
friend, apology in his face.
"Spence, can I handle this one alone?" Skinner's eyes begged his
friend for indulgence.
"Sure, Walt. I'll go see if I can put a fire under those birds,"
he said with a wave of his hand. "Good luck, Walt," he added as he
shut the door.
In the Mine Cavern
Day two, 9:00 am
John Jacobs had called a meeting. That meant that the men all
gathered around him and listened to his edicts and then nodded in
agreement and did exactly as they were told. The women waited
patiently by themselves. This time, they were joined by one male,
Special Agent Fox Mulder.
"Any clue as to what he's talking about?" Mulder asked Dixie
quietly, while she applied more cornflower petals to his burn.
"Where we're headed, I 'spect. The boys were hungry this
morning. There's not enough food for another meal. We gotta go to
ground to do a little huntin'. I think John wants out of the caverns,
too," she added, chewing on her lip. "You've been good, so far. Just
stay clear of him, OK?"
"Dixie, I need to talk to him. If we leave these tunnels, you
can bet that we'll be walking into an ambush. They probably consider
you women to be unwilling hostages at this point. And kidnapping a
Federal Officer, *two* Federal Officers, is a major crime. The FBI is
not going to let us walk to Canada, no matter what Jacobs thinks.
Maybe, if he lets me go first, I can at least make sure nobody dies,"
Mulder said anxiously, his eyes flashing over to Scully for a second
before turning back to gaze at Dixie.
Dixie thought about it for a moment. "He's sober. But I don't
know that's much of an improvement. I think that dream last night has
him spooked so bad, he'd kill just out of frustration. I don't want
that on my head," she said flatly.
Dana caught Mulder's look and made a decision. "Dixie, please.
Mulder's right. He's done this kind of thing before, talking to men
who were scared. He may not look like it now," she said with a wicked
grin, "but he's actually a fairly decent psychologist when he isn't in
traction. Let him try, Dixie. It might be our only chance at
resolving this peacefully."
Inside the mine
Day Two
Noon
They had been walking for over two hours along the dark, cavernous
mine. Dixie was right, Scully thought wearily, we could walk around
this mine for years and no one would ever find us. Every turn they
encountered looked just like the previous one. There was no way of
knowing which direction they were going or even if they were walking
in circles. Only John Jacobs seemed to know where they were headed. He
had been leading the group since shortly after the meeting with his
men had ended.
The two agents had tried in vain to convince Dixie that Mulder should
at least attempt to talk to Jacobs. But the old woman had relented
only slightly in the end, saying she would think about it. It was
obvious to both Mulder and Scully that they needed Dixie on their
side, they were sure Mulder would be dead by now if it wasn't for her.
For that reason they decided to go along with her wishes. She seemed
to know Jacobs pretty well and if she felt now was not the time for an
FBI heart to heart with the madman, then now was not the time.
Even so, Scully was fairly certain Mulder couldn't keep walking for
much longer. She was amazed he was still on his feet. Although Dixie's
snakebite medicine, as Mulder had decided to call it, had helped, it
couldn't heal the broken bones and only God knew what damage Jacobs
had caused during his early morning outburst. She looked over at her
husband and, for the tenth time in as many minutes, tried to offer
some support, urging him to lean on her. He shook his head and pushed
her away, refusing to look at her. It was an automatic reflex, she
knew that, but it still hurt. He could barely carry himself but he was
only concerned with her well-being, worried Jacobs would make the
connection between the two of them. She took a deep breath and felt
her stomach, if only to reassure herself that life goes on.
The thoughts of the baby growing inside of her led to thoughts of her
sister and the message she had conveyed on her wedding day. Oh Missy,
if only I could be sure, Dana thought to herself. If only I could be
sure that this baby will come to term and Mulder will be there to see
it. She was so deep in thought she didn't notice Tenille had slowed
her pace and was beside her until the young woman took her hand.
Instinctively, Scully jumped, startling Mulder in the process.
Scully looked around and relaxed when she realized the rest of the
Brotherhood was a few feet in front of them, obviously not very
concerned that the two agents might make a run for it.
"I'm sorry," Tenille whispered. "I didn't mean to startle you." Scully
noticed the young woman was shaking, probably more scared than she
was. She was at a loss for words and said nothing, letting her
expression show that no harm was done and urging Tenille to continue.
"I have something for him," Tenille said under her breath, visibly
terrified that one of the Brothers would see her speaking with the
enemy. She quickly handed Scully a soft white pouch. From the feel of
it Scully guessed it was made of silk. "It's an amulet," Tenille said
quickly. "I was working on it right before we left."
Scully looked at Tenille carefully, not knowing what to make of the
gesture. Tenille misunderstood the expression. "An amulet is..."
"I know what an amulet is," Scully interrupted. "I'm just wondering
why..." Scully stopped herself before continuing. She didn't want to
insult this young woman, who was obviously risking something by even
speaking with them.
"It ain't fair, is all," Tenille said sadly. "What John's done to
him." Tenille looked at Mulder, only to avert her gaze the instant he
made eye contact. "It's an amulet to ward off fever," she continued,
staring at the ground as she spoke. "Inside the sack there's a white
rose, a nickel and a penknife. When the fever breaks you need to bury
the rose." She looked at Scully for confirmation, approval. Scully
nodded. First snakebite medicine and now amulets. It was all more than
her scientific mind could handle on a good day. But Tenille meant well
and what the hell, she thought, it couldn't hurt.
Mulder looked over at Tenille and whispered the words thank you before
the young woman scurried off to join her two female friends in front
of them. Scully looked at Mulder and smiled.
"Seems like the womenfolk have taken a liking to you," she joked,
handing him the small pouch. "I guess you should put this in your
pocket. We wouldn't want to hurt Tenille's feelings..." Her words were
cut off when Mulder reached over for the pouch and she felt his hand
on hers. He was very hot. One look in his eyes confirmed her fears, he
had a perilously high fever. "Mulder, you're burning up," she
whispered.
"Then this amulet came just in time," he mused, shoving the silk pouch
deep inside the front pocket of his Levi's. "Look at that, I feel
better already."
Scully was not amused and could barely hide the contempt she was
feeling. "Not funny, Mulder. I'm scared. I'm worried about you." She
softened a little bit, reminding herself he was the one suffering
physically. "You don't look like you can go much further and Jacobs
isn't about to slow down because you're not up to the task at hand."
"Dana stop worrying about me. I'm fine. If the time comes when I can't
go on, we'll deal with it then. Right now I seem to be putting one
foot in front of the other quite nicely, thank you."
Scully was about to say she didn't believe him when she became aware
that the group in front of them had stopped. She could make out
Jacobs' form about 40 feet in front of them, talking to some of his
men who had gathered around him. They were having an animated
discussion, as animated as any of the Brothers dared to be in front of
their leader. Were they arguing? Whatever they were saying was in
hushed tones, but a few of the men were gesturing feverishly,
indicating a battle of the wills was taking place.
It was no surprise to either agent when the men around Jacobs
retreated back into the group and began talking to the rest of the
followers. After a few minutes Dixie casually inched her way back to
Mulder and Scully, who had kept their distance, hoping to disappear
into the walls.
"What's going on?" Mulder asked.
"It seems that we're about 50 yards from the exit," Dixie whispered.
"John wants us to wait right here until it's dark before we make a run
for the border."
"And the rest of the men are having a problem with that?" Scully
asked.
"These men think with their stomachs," Dixie mused. "Seems John wants
to wait until it's really dark, midnight at the earliest, and the men
are claiming the women can't go that long without proper nourishment."
Dixie laughed at her own statement. "Suddenly they're thinking about
the women," she said absently. Her mind drifted for an instant,
remembering how Jeremiah used to take such good care of her, before
she caught herself and quickly brought herself back to the present.
"In any case," she said, looking at Mulder, "this is probably a good
thing for you. You look like you could sit for a spell."
Mulder nodded weakly, attempting a smile in appreciation of Dixie's
concern.
"Dixie," Scully interrupted, "Mulder's burning up. I've got a few
aspirin left, but I hate to give them to him on an empty stomach. Do
you have anything else we can give him?"
Dixie reached up to touch Mulder's cheek. "Don't need to touch you,
really, my boy," she said. "As Gran used to say, I can see the fever
dancin' in your eyes." She looked around and noticed the Brotherhood
was starting to make themselves comfortable on the cold mine floor. "I
ain't got no food left. Nothin' to help line his stomach, if that's
what you mean." Scully nodded and Dixie continued. "Peppermint and
parsley are both good for fevers," she said slowly, thinking out loud.
"I have some peppermint with me but I would need to heat up some
water. Let me think about that for a minute. In the meantime, you two
sit down, it's going to be a long 12 hours."
Before she could walk away Mulder held her arm gently. "Dixie," he
said, "I really need to talk to Jacobs. It's our only chance. Possibly
the entire Brotherhood's only chance."
"My boy you can barely stand on your own two feet right now, you think
you've got it in you to talk to John?"
Mulder nodded. "It's now or never Dixie. In a few hours I may not be
able to do it."
Dixie looked at him carefully before looking at Scully. "Is he always
this ornery?" she asked, only half joking.
"You should see him when he feels good," Scully shot back. Although
she knew Mulder was right, talking to Jacobs probably was their only
chance of getting out of this alive, she had her doubts as to Mulder's
current state of mind. She hastily decided she had no choice but to
trust her husband's judgment. "I agree with Mulder, Dixie," she
finally said, not quite as convincing as she was hoping to come
across.
"Okay," Dixie reluctantly agreed. "Let me see if I can do anything
about the peppermint tea first and then I'll talk to John. In the
meantime, keep that amulet close to you boy." With that she walked
away into the crowd, her slight frame easily disappearing out of sight
the minute she sat down and began talking to some of the Brothers.
Overlooking the Brotherhood compound
7:30 P.M.
"It's getting too dark to see anything, Walt." Spence Thornley had to
shout to be heard above the din of the helicopter. "We need to get
back to camp and start again in the morning."
"One more time around." Skinner shouted, not bothering to wait for a
response. After all, it wasn't a question, it was an order. He had
promised to call Margaret Scully that evening, whether he had any news
to report or not, and he wasn't prepared to call with no news.
They had been circling the area around the compound for nearly six
hours. Stopping only once to refuel. They had estimated the most the
Brotherhood could have walked since their escape was roughly 15 miles.
And that was assuming they had been walking non-stop since three in
the morning, which was not likely. Certainly if they had gotten that
far Mulder would have been left behind. From what Skinner had seen of
the agent the night before he didn't look like he could have walked a
hundred yards, much less 15 miles. The more accurate guess was
anywhere between five and 10 miles, but they were taking no chances.
They were scouring every inch in every direction in a fifteen mile
radius. As time went by they had ventured further out, not willing to
rule out any possibilities.
Skinner finally put down his binoculars and sat back. Spence was
right. It was now too dark to see anything. Even with the high powered
lights coming from the helicopter the visibility was lousy. The area
surrounding the compound was dense with trees and brush. In some parts
the ground was hidden for hundreds of yards at a time. Tomorrow he
would join the foot patrol, he decided. At least on foot he would feel
like he was contributing more than he could sitting in a helicopter,
staring at the tops of trees.
It occurred to him, certainly not for the first time, that the
Brotherhood could have been planning their escape into the tunnel for
a very long time, storing supplies and food to last them indefinitely.
It could be days, weeks or even months before they ventured outside.
Before they needed to venture outside. He closed his eyes and thought
about his two most infuriating agents. How long would it be before
Scully started showing? Margaret Scully would know. The thought of
Margaret Scully, waiting by the phone, waiting for his call, made him
nauseous. He leaned forward and tapped the pilot on the shoulder.
"Take her back," he shouted. He couldn't even look at the old friend
sitting next to him. He would join one of the foot patrols as soon as
he had made the phone call.
Inside the mine
8:15 P.M.
The old Blackfoot Indian was standing in front of her smiling. He was
holding a handful of colorful leaves and was urging her to take them.
Dana Scully looked around and saw nothing but an open field for miles.
The brightly decorated Indian took her hands and placed the leaves he
was holding in them, carefully closing her fingers around them.
Dana opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing. There was nothing to
say. She looked up at the old man, who was still smiling, and
questioned him with her eyes. He took her hands, and the leaves, and
gently pressed them against her heart.
The leaves felt warm to her touch and she felt an overwhelming desire
to press them tightly against her chest. Wisps of billowy smoke
surrounded her and it took only an instant to realize the heat was
coming from her. From her heart. She let out a gasp and dropped the
pile to the ground. The Blackfoot was gone.
She woke with a start, feeling her hands for a burn that wasn't there.
Mulder was asleep with his back against the wall beside her and she
looked around before allowing herself to touch his cheek and forehead.
He was still warm but not nearly as hot as he had been a few hours
earlier. At one point he had started to talk about the baby and she
could have sworn he was delirious.
Dixie had come through once again, having had one of the Brothers
start a small fire on the pretense she needed to make some tea for Bo.
The women had packed what provisions they had and luckily had included
a couple of small pots and some drinking water. Sneaking a cup of
peppermint tea back to Mulder had been no small feat, but Dixie had
managed that as well.
Unable to read her watch in the darkness, Scully sat back and closed
her eyes. She had no idea how long she had been sitting there, or how
much longer before John mobilized the group again. She covered
Mulder's hand with her own, throwing caution to the wind, before
falling asleep again.
***********
Dixie had agreed to talk to Jacobs right after they made their exit
from the tunnel. No use getting him riled up while they were still
trapped inside. She didn't think John was going to take too kindly to
Mulder wanting to talk to him, but she had seen the determination on
the young agent's face and had come to the conclusion he was going to
do it whether he had her blessing or not.
She looked over at the young couple, barely making out their forms,
and said a silent prayer. Something about Agent Mulder reminded her of
Jeremiah. She had a feeling the young man had a stubborn streak, just
like her husband. And Dana...Dana reminded her of the woman she wished
she had been when she was younger. It wasn't until recently that she
felt the courage to stand up for herself, for her beliefs. She had
been lucky Jeremiah never took advantage of her timidness, or her meek
countenance. It was men like John Jacobs that took advantage of people
like that. Something inside her had kicked in the night Jeremiah died.
Something she didn't know was in there. Whatever it was it had given
her a strength she didn't know she possessed. And although she felt it
was too late to help herself, she was damned if she wouldn't do what
she could to save this young couple.
Dixie closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep slowly, dreaming of the
children she and Jeremiah never had.
Inside the mine
Sometime after midnight
John Jacobs had not been able to relax for the better part of the day.
So fearful was he of having another nightmare, of showing weakness in
front of his men, that he had refused to let himself sleep. It wasn't
until he had downed half a bottle of Jim Beam that the decision was
taken out of his hands and he was left with little choice than to pass
out on the stone floor.
His sleep was fitful at best, with many ghosts from his past paying
him a visit. The Blackfoot that had so haunted his earlier dream
didn't make an appearance this time, but they didn't have to. Jacobs
had enough skeletons in his closet to be spooked easily. He had caused
enough damage and killed enough people in his lifetime to fear the
afterlife. An afterlife he had managed, throughout his life, to
convince himself did not exist. That was just what cowards pretended
to believe to avoid taking any meaningful action in their lives, he
told himself. But lately, maybe because he was getting older, maybe
because things had started to go sour, he was starting to give the
afterlife some thought.
It had occurred to him when he had thrown the scalding water on the
G-Man that maybe now was the time to reverse some of the bad he had
done. The thought lingered for an instant before he realized it was
too late for him. Too much water under the bridge, so to speak. Being
good to one man wasn't about to turn his fortune around. It certainly
wasn't going to stop him from going to Hell.
At that precise moment in the kitchen he accepted the grim fact that
his soul was beyond salvation. The acceptance gave him the freedom to
do his will. Until that stone came flying through the window and the
Blackfoot started hunting him down like some animal. He had accepted
the fact that he would suffer the unmentionable, the unfathomable, in
the afterlife, but he wasn't prepared to face it now. While he was
still alive.
Only Jim Beam could save him now. John Jacobs was unraveling and he
knew it. It was only a matter of time before he did himself in. Now it
was just a question of how many men he would take with him when he
went. With that ominous thought he stood up and started to rouse the
Brothers. It was time to make a break for the outdoors.
***********
Mulder had been awake for a while when he saw Jacobs stand,
unsteadily. The fact that the man was already drunk, or was it still
drunk, didn't bode well for the conversation he wanted to have with
him. Mulder couldn't put his finger on it, but something about Jacobs
had changed in the last couple of days. The arrogance was still there
but there was uncertainty as well. Something he hadn't seen when he
first entered the compound. Maybe Dixie was right, maybe something had
spooked him. But what?
Jacobs had turned on his lantern and was looking around the room
slowly, almost methodically. Like someone surveying his prize cattle,
Mulder thought bitterly. He smiled inwardly when it occurred to him
that John Jacobs was suffering from mad cow disease.
Jacobs' booming voice was enough to startle anyone and Dana Scully was
no exception. She came out of a sound sleep practically shaking when
she heard the big man yelling out orders.
"Shh," Mulder whispered, stroking her hand. "It's okay. I think it's
time. It must be after midnight."
Scully allowed herself the luxury of holding her husband's hand for
only a moment. Long enough to get her bearings and build her strength.
"You're not as warm," she finally said, not daring to touch his face.
"How do you feel?"
"Okay." Mulder was grateful the lanterns were still far enough away
that she couldn't see him clearly. He was sure his expression would
betray his pat answer. As it was, he knew she didn't believe him. The
fever was gone, but the pain in his ribs and his back was intense and
once again he was having a hard time breathing. If it wasn't for Dana
Scully, that remarkable woman that had so penetrated his existence, he
would already have given up trying to stay alive.
Scully squeezed his hand and looked up to where John Jacobs was
standing. He was barking orders and no one dared to move a muscle.
"Listen up, everyone," he was shouting. "It is very important we do
this as planned. One false move and we all could die." He looked
around the room, letting his words sink in before continuing. "I will
give you each a number and you will stand in a line behind the exit
according to that number. You will go out one at a time. Once outside
I will direct you to another location. I will go first, with the G-Man
and the Doc, our insurance policy," he added with a snicker.
Jacobs held his lantern up and looked to the back of the mine, in
search of his two hostages. "Hey G-Man," he shouted, "you still
alive?"
Mulder didn't answer him, instead he chose to stand up and make his
presence known. He used the wall for support, refusing to let Scully
help him in any way. Scully stood beside him.
"Come on up here, you two," Jacobs shouted. "It's show time."
The two agents began walking slowly to the front of the group. Mulder
ahead of Scully, refusing to let her walk in front of him. Dixie
brushed his arm as he walked past her and whispered the words, "not
now." A caution to wait before attempting to talk to Jacobs. Mulder
couldn't agree more. Something about Jacobs wasn't right. More so than
before.
Jacobs was leering at them by the time they reached his side. "Good,"
he said sarcastically, "I'm glad you could join me." He callously
shoved Mulder out of the way and began shouting out numbers to his
people.
Instinctively, Mulder reached out for Scully as a wave of nausea
washed over him. He closed his eyes and tried to ground himself,
fearing he was going to pass out. Fortunately, Jacobs had his back to
them and didn't notice how badly Mulder had reacted to the simple
shove he had given him.
A couple of the Brothers standing nearby noticed but they were too
busy waiting for their numbers to care. Dixie saw what happened, as
well as the other women in the group. Women who forced themselves to
look down for fear the anguish on their face would give away the
contempt they were feeling.
After a moment Mulder opened his eyes and quickly let go of Scully.
"I'm okay," he said, not waiting to be asked. Every breath was painful
and speaking only made it worse. He looked at his wife, his eyes
trying to convey everything he was feeling. Everything he felt for
her, for their situation. She understood and simply nodded.
"Okay, does everyone have a number?" Jacobs shouted. His followers
nodded. "Then get in a line like I asked you to damnit!" The
Brotherhood stumbled around each other until they had made a haphazard
line that stretched for several feet along the side of the mine.
"Good," Jacobs said, surveying his group. Now follow me." He took
Scully by the arm and led her towards the exit. "Stay close, G-Man,"
he said to Mulder. "We wouldn't want to leave you behind now would
we?" Jacobs laughed, a loud haunting laughter that echoed off the
walls of the mine and reverberated garishly throughout the building.
Outside the compound
9:00 pm
"Hello?" answered the weary voice over a 1000 miles away.
"Mrs. Scully? This is Walter Skinner," he said quietly. "I promised
to call if there were any new developments."
"And have there been any?" she asked, trying to match the calm in his
voice.
"I'm afraid so, and not exactly for the better." He paused and heard
the sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. "Mrs.
Scully, as far as we know, both your daughter and her partner are
still alive."
"As far as you know. When was the last time you saw anything?"
Maggie Scully was quickly losing her patience with Skinner and his
bureaucratic doublespeak.
"At 3:30 this morning, both Dana and Fox were sighted in the
compound." He hesitated a fraction of a second before continuing.
"Dana appeared to be fine."
Maggie drew in a breath, that had been over 17 hours ago. She caught
both the hesitation in Skinner's voice and the absense of any comment
on the condition of her son-in-law. "And Fox?" she asked, letting her
impatience drip from the words.
"He is alive, of that we are certain. More than that, I can't really
say, Mrs. Scully."
"So you can't see into the compound now?" she asked, pulling each
answer from him.
"Mrs. Scully, the Brotherhood has abandoned the compound. They are no
longer in the building. I'm sure it will be headline news soon out
east. We've kept the media hounds at bay, but that only lasted 24
hours. It appears that they have escaped through an abandoned mine
tunnel. We are currently conducting an extensive search of the area.
We aren't sure what caused the departure, but we are doing everything
in our power to get your daughter. . ."
"And her husband," Maggie interrupted, pointedly.
"*And* her husband out alive. Believe me, I have no intention of
losing either of them or any more of the men here in Montana. I am
supervising this operation personally." Skinner knew that this was
hardly enough to satisfy Dana's mother. But under the circumstances,
he hoped she would at least attempt to understand his position.
"I guess I should call Ann. She hasn't tried to contact you, has
she?" Maggie asked. Chances were good that Ann was oblivious to her
son's danger. But that was the way the woman preferred it, after all.
"I haven't heard from Mrs. Mulder, no. If you would be so kind as to
contact her, I would appreciate it." Skinner was anxious to get this
conversation over with so he could get back to the search.
"I know you want to get going, Mr. Skinner. And I do appreciate the
fact that you took the time to call. Please let me know if anything
else develops and if I'm needed out there."
"Of course, Mrs. Scully. I'll let you know the minute we find them.
Or I'll have Dana call herself."
The mine entrance
Midnight
It wasn't the best conditions outside the mine. A bitter wind had
kicked up, common in late spring in the mountains. The quarter moon
was hardly enough to light the path, had there been a path. Perfect
conditions to make an escape, Mulder thought grimly. He closed his
eyes and tried to detect any sounds of possible rescue, a helicopter
or a plane. It occured to him the irony of listening for a
helicopter, considering how many times he had tried to outrun one.
Jacobs had decided that the group would stay together, at least for
the time being. It would become necessary to split up before
daybreak, unless shelter was available. His plan, or so much of it as
Mulder had been able to overhear now that he was closer to Jacobs, was
to head for the border, some 15 miles to the north according to one of
the men.
The hours spent in the mine had left Mulder stiff and more sore than
when they stopped. Sometime during the last few hours, he had picked
up a cough that he was trying to supress. A nice stay in a hospital
was looking relatively good, but he would never admit that to Scully.
He looked over at her, when he was sure none of the others was
watching. Even in the dim moonlight, she was the most beautiful thing
he had ever laid eyes on. He didn't want to leave her, no way, no
how. But he was becoming more and more concerned about what Jacobs
was planning to do with them once they all arrived at the border.
Once into Canada, Mulder knew Jacobs would have to 'dispose' of his
'insurance policies'. It only made sense. If he were to let them go,
they could bring the authorities right down on top of the Brotherhood.
Canadian extradition was a simple process and the RCMP's were rather
good at tracking down fugitives in the wilds of Western Canada. The
only way the Brotherhood could really be free of pursuit is if they
could get farther up into the Canadian wilderness, away from the
border, and free of any hinderences. He and Scully were the biggest
hinderences Mulder could think of.
He looked hard at Jacobs. Mulder had seen plenty of madmen in his
day, from simple killers to genetic mutants. They all had a certain
emptiness in their eyes, like their souls were not in attendence.
Jacobs looked different to Mulder. Jacobs looked scared.
Once again, Mulder wondered what Jacobs was afraid of. It certainly
wasn't the FBI. He had nothing but disdain for the government, not
fear. His mind kept returning to the Indian Burial ground and the
tombstone that had crashed through the window. Jacobs was haunted.
Something was chasing him, pushing him further and further, making it
difficult for him to think. Difficult for him to sleep. That was it.
Mulder remembered the nightmare Jacobs had had in the middle of the
night. He couldn't be certain, but he didn't think Jacobs had slept a
wink since that time. When was that, Mulder tried desparately to
remember. His own pain was making his mind foggy. It seemed to be
not long after they had settled down to rest the first time. And
really, Jacobs had rested only a little in the compound. The man was
running on pure adreneline by now. It wouldn't be long before
he dropped from exhaustion. But before then, he would have a very
short fuse and a very hot temper.
The men trudged off into the darkness. Bob and Henry took point.
Mulder noticed that someone had remembered a set of night vision
goggles and they were sharing them as well as lead position. So much
for hoping the group would have to find shelter sooner than later.
Jacobs made his way over to where Mulder was leaning against a tree.
"Hey, Mr. FBI, how're ya holding up?" he sneered. Mulder tried to
straighten as much as he could, he didn't want to give the man a
target for his anger.
He decided now was as good a time as any to have that talk, fearful
that waiting for Dixie to arrange it would take more time than they
had left. "Look, Jacobs, you don't need two hostages," Mulder said
calmly, evenly. "And from the looks of it, your man is feeling much
better. Why not let the paramedic go now. It's dark, she has no way
of knowing which direction you're heading or your destination. Let
her go. You've got me for a hostage," he reasoned. He was grateful
Scully was taking a look at Bo, certain his request would have made
her furious had she heard it.
Jacobs chewed on his lip. It didn't seem like that bad of an idea.
Leaving the woman behind would probably save time once they were at
the border. And she was an innocent. The men were getting pretty
scared and didn't want more trouble. That damn Miller woman was
stirring up a ruckus among the women as it was. "Let me think on it,"
Jacobs said with a nod and walked back over to direct the others.
"It's the Burial Ground, isn't it? Or didn't you know the compound
was built on a Blackfoot burial ground?" Mulder called after him.
Jacobs stopped short and his shoulders tensed. "The rock through the
window, the men getting sick, it's all connected, you know. I've seen
it before, or at least, I've read about it. That's why it's
considered sacred ground. It's also dangerous to disturb them."
Mulder really didn't know why he was risking his life by confronting
Jacobs with this information. Maybe he felt he could get through to
him. Whatever made him do it, he was not quite prepared for the
result.
"What do you know about it?" Jacobs growled angrily.
"Just that it's pretty obvious that FBI agents didn't throw that
tombstone through the window. It was something else, some other
power. The compound was built on sacred ground, to the Blackfoot, at
least. I don't know why their spirits weren't disturbed before, maybe
it was when you buried your dead with theirs that they got angry.
Whatever, they're haunting you still, aren't they?" Mulder was
speaking so fast that he was having trouble catching his breath. It
was coming in short gasps and the effort of standing was starting to
take its toll. Spots were swimming before his eyes, but he held them
steady, not wavering from his gaze on Jacobs.
"You don't know nothing!" Jacobs shouted. "You talk too much!" He
covered the ground between them in a single step and punched Mulder
with all his might right where the agent's damaged ribs were. Mulder
let out a yelp and crumbled to his feet.
Seeing the younger man prostrate before him only served to give Jacobs
a focus for his fear and anger. He kicked, hit, punched the agent
with all his force. A couple of the men ran over to him, but refused
to try and pull him off. They just stood there, open mouthed and
watched.
Dixie and Dana were several feet away, checking out Bo, when they
heard the ruckus. Dana looked up and saw that Jacobs was in a frenzy.
It didn't take a psychic to know the target of the attack. She jumped
up to run to Mulder, but Dixie shoved her roughly into Tenille's arms.
"Keep her here," Dixie whispered hoarsely and ran over to the fight.
By the time Dixie arrived at Mulder's side, the young man was covered
with blood but still conscious, protecting his battered body by
curling into a fetal position. Jacobs continued his onslaught, his
anger fueling his efforts. So intense was his rage he was literally
blinded by it, and was no longer aware of his own actions. He was in a
terrifying stupor, his hands and feet no longer connecting with
Mulder's limp body.
Dixie tried to grab him and pull him off, cognizant of the fact that
Jacobs would indeed connect with Mulder's broken body again if left to
his own volition. But Jacobs tossed the small woman aside like so much
driftwood on a rough sea. Not deterred by his assault on her, Dixie
scrambled to her feet. Looking around desparately, she spied a fallen
limb a few feet from her, and, using it as a club, brought it down on
Jacobs right across his broad shoulders. He let out a roar and turned
on her, his former prey forgotten.
By this time, Dana had torn herself away from Tenille's grasp and had
run over to stand as close to Mulder as the group of men around him
would allow. She had to jump up and down to get a good look over and
around the men's shoulders. By some miracle, one of the men turned
and she finally had a good look. But at that moment, it was a sight
she really wished she hadn't been able to witness.
Jacobs was roaring with anger, his face red, his eyes bulging. No man
had the nerve or the stupidity to step forward and try and protect the
tiny woman now standing in the eye of the tornado that was John
Jacobs. Jacobs lifted Dixie off the ground, shook the old woman
violently and then threw her as hard as he could against the boulders
that lined the mine entrance. Dixie hit the rock with a sickening
crack of bone and slid down to the ground, eyes open, unseeing.
Dana let out a shriek and ran to the little woman, Jacobs finally
coming out of the fog that his anger had induced. A momentary panic
flashed across his eyes and he glanced around at the others, all
staring at him, open mouthed, incredulous. Not one of them needed to
hear Dana's announcement to know that the old woman was dead. That
much was obvious. And what was worse was the fact that their supposed
leader now stood in the center of their circle, shamefaced, and
guilty.
No one did anything for a long time. They stood, some accusing Jacobs
with their eyes, others confused and questioning with gazes that the
big man refused to answer. Finally, Jacobs took a deep breath and
blew it out. His composure was back and with it, the guilt he had
previously felt vanished. "I told that damn bitch not to interfere.
Now look what she made me do!? If she'd left me be, this would never
had happened!" By this time, Bob and Henry had made their way to
either side of Jacobs. Bob's eyes flicked nervously over to Tenille,
but he said nothing to her. He just flanked Jacobs, with Henry on the
other side, in case there was a sudden revolt among the men. Both Bob
and Henry hefted their weapons as warning against anyone who might
question Jacobs' actions.
Dana wanted more than anything to go to Mulder, but the men made an
effective wall between them. She stayed by Dixie's body, holding back
tears as she gently closed the grey eyes. There was nothing she could
do. Tenille and a few of the other women, casting furtive glances
toward the men, came over and covered the body with a blanket.
"C'mon!" Jacobs shouted, more loudly than necessary since everyone was
standing so close and all eyes and ears were on him. "We're wasting
time. Leave the body. We don't have time to bury it and try and make
a run for it. The rest of you, get a move on. We got 15 miles to the
border and the hounds will be out before light. We move now."
Jacobs turned and began walking, leading his weary followers into
darkness, too preoccupied with his own haunted thoughts to hear
Tenille arguing with Bob.
"We can't just leave him here." She was holding on to Bob's arm, the
one that held the rifle he had become so proud of. So reliant on.
"This agent is innocent. Like Dixie. How many more people are we going
to let him kill?" Tenille's voice was trembling, her fear impossible
to mask, but she would be damned if she would let Dixie die in vain.
The closest thing to a mother Tenille had ever experienced, Dixie had
lost her life trying to save the man that was struggling to stand up
just a few feet from them.
"What do you want me to do Tenille? Risk my life to save *him*?" Bob
pointed at Mulder with his rifle, the irony of the situation not
entirely lost on him. He was the one with the big gun, after all.
Tenille glared at him. For the first time in her life, after she met
Bob, she had dared herself to dream, to fantasize of a future with a
man she loved and maybe even a family of her own. The crashing of
those thoughts, that dream, only intensified her resolve to validate
Dixie's death. "If you don't do something, I will." She let go of
Bob's hand, disgusted with the feel of his skin on hers and began
walking towards Mulder. Dana Scully had already made her way to his
side, so disoriented were the Yeomen, it hadn't occurred to any of
them to stop her.
Bob was in a quandary. He felt an undeniable loyalty to John Jacobs. A
loyalty borne out of fear and respect. It was that fear that had him
frozen in his tracks. The respect he had started to lose a couple of
days earlier, when it was obvious to Bob something had clicked in
John's head the instant he threw the scalding water at the federal
agent. He was so used to following John's orders, no questions asked,
rarely allowed a free thought, that he was now at a loss. Deep down he
knew Tenille was right. They couldn't just let the agent die, not
without trying to save him. But he had no idea where to begin.
Tenille's disgusted glare fueled his own desire to remedy the
situation. It wasn't until that moment, the moment when she turned her
back on him, loathing in her eyes, that he realized how much she meant
to him. Her disdain for him, of his actions or lack thereof, made his
stomach turn and his heart ache. He reached for her, to stop her, but
instead turned in the direction John was headed and yelled out to him.
"John," he shouted, waiting for the big man to turn and face him
before continuing, "what about the federal agent? He needs help."
It wasn't much, but it was a step in the right direction. Tenille
turned and looked in his eyes. The contempt from a moment earlier was
gone, replaced by...was it pride? Bob couldn't tell. He was scared to
death of what might happen next.
"Leave him," John shouted back. "If he's not dead already he will be
soon. Besides, he was right. One hostage is all we need to get us to
the border."
No sooner had the words left John Jacobs' lips when a sudden burst of
lightning flashed through the sky, illuminating everyone in an eerie
burst of light before crashing down on the tree where Dixie Miller's
body was resting.
The Yeomen scattered as the massive tree was split in half, sending
bark and branches flying in every direction. When the dust had
settled, only Dixie's body remained in its original position. Upright,
without the benefit of a tree to support her.
The mine entrance
Just after midnight
The pitch of one woman's scream only served to further jar the
Brotherhood. The last 72 hours had taken their toll and there wasn't a
Brother left that wasn't spooked in one way or another.
John Jacobs was no exception. If anything, he was more distraught and
frightened than his followers. That realization alone sent shivers
down his spine. He felt like a hunted man. Or was that a haunted man?
Loud, ominous laughter left his mouth before he could retrieve it.
Some of his men turned to face him, but none could look in his eyes.
It was the hesitation Jacobs needed to regain some of his composure.
They were afraid of him. Good. He was afraid of himself. He laughed
out loud again, but this time, if only to his ears, the sound of
nerves echoed in the background.
Bob, unnerved like the rest of them, managed to seize the moment,
albeit slowly, and approached Jacobs, making sure to keep a healthy
distance. "John," he said, breathing deeply before he could continue.
"I didn't hear what you said. What should we do about the federal
agent?"
John glared at Bob, but before he could say anything he felt the eyes
of his men on him. This time, their own fear had given them the
strength to look their leader in the eye. They had seen the lightning
and the tree and the image of Dixie, as if suspended in air, as the
omen they were sure was intended. They could not and would not let the
agent stay behind. John Jacobs regarded his group slowly, a mildly
successful attempt to hide his own fears, before speaking to Bob.
"I said," Jacobs spoke evenly, with the enormous control he knew was
necessary to keep his team at bay, "to bring him along. We need both
hostages until we can get to the border." With that, John Jacobs
turned around and began walking, slowly, making sure he heard
footsteps behind him before picking up his pace.
Bob went back to Tenille and Scully, who had managed to get Mulder
into a sitting position. One of the women had given Dana a wet
washcloth and she was slowly wiping the blood off his face when Bob
came up from behind.
"Can he walk?" he asked.
"Probably not on his own," Scully answered. Bob had just moved up a
couple of notches in her book and she was trying to relay her
appreciation by not coming off as angry as she really was.
She put her hand under Mulder's chin and held his head up for
inspection. His left eye was already swollen shut and his right
cheekbone was badly bruised, possibly broken. She moved his jaw easily
and was grateful that that too hadn't been broken in the last attack.
Mulder tried to smile at her but winced with the effort and she was
amazed he had it in him to even try. She kissed the top of his head,
no longer caring who knew what.
"It's time to stand up, G-Man," she said, and, with the help of Bob,
lifted him onto very unsteady feet.
Mulder felt a wave of nausea and was forced to lean heavily on Scully
until it passed. "It's okay," she whispered, stroking his back gently.
"Just close your eyes and let it pass."
When the dizziness tapered he opened his eyes slowly, allowing himself
to focus on Scully before speaking. "Scully, I..." his breathing was
labored, like it had been back at the compound, and Scully found
herself wishing for some of Dixie's snakebite medicine. "I don't
think...I can...make it..."
Before Scully could open her mouth Bob took over. "Sure you can," he
said. "You lean on me as much as you have to and we'll get you out of
this mess, together, okay?"
Mulder nodded weakly at the tall stranger before him.
Tears welled up in Tenille's eyes as she reached over and gently
squeezed Bob's arm. He responded by handing her his rifle, effectively
freeing himself to fully help the man on his left.
They began the arduous trek behind the Brotherhood, in search of the
Canadian border. Mulder was barely conscious, gradually forgetting why
he was there or why he was fighting to stay alive. Every inch of his
body ached and every step he took made breathing more difficult.
After an hour of walking through the uneven terrain Scully was certain
Mulder wouldn't last much longer. He could no longer control the cough
he had been suppressing earlier and every time he coughed his
fractured ribs moved, causing more pain and more difficulty breathing.
The man she loved more than anything in the world was dying before her
very own eyes, and there was nothing she could do. Or was there?
"Bob," she said quietly, although they were well behind the rest of
the group, she wasn't taking any chances.
"Hmm?" Bob wasn't taking any chances either.
"He's not going to make it if we keep walking. He needs to lie down,
to get to a hospital." For an instant Scully felt guilty for talking
about Mulder as if he wasn't even there. And then, sadly, she realized
he really wasn't. He was in too much pain to be aware of much.
"What do you suppose we do Ma'am?"
Ma'am. Scully suddenly realized just how young Bob was. He was just a
kid, in his early twenties, if that, caught up in a mess he had very
little to do with. "Is your gun loaded?"
"Yes..." Bob wasn't sure he liked the sound of that.
"Maybe we can shoot Jacobs..."
"I don't think so." Bob wanted to scream. What had he gotten himself
into? "I know it sounds like a good idea, but you do that and someone
else is bound to shoot you in return. Whether they mean to or not,
they'll just get caught up in the moment. I've seen it happen."
He may be young, Scully thought, but he's right. She wondered what
kind of life Bob had shared with Jacobs that gave him the insight he
seemed to possess. "Any suggestions then?" Scully was at a loss. "If
we don't do something soon, Agent Mulder is going to die." Agent
Mulder. She wanted to scream, my husband, the father of my child, but
she didn't. Instead, she listened to his breathing, the short gasps
punctuated by the wheezing and the coughing and the shuffling of his
feet as he dragged them along the dirt.
"Let me think about it," Bob said, closing his eyes and taking a deep
breath. He had done a lot of thinking in the last hour and had come to
the conclusion that he wanted out of this mess in one piece, with
Tenille by his side. Another dead federal agent would not bode well
for his future plans. Even if he wasn't directly responsible for his
death. It struck him as funny that he was more concerned with having
to live with himself if he did nothing, with his conscience of all
things, than with the fear of going to jail. He supposed he had
Tenille to thank for that. Somehow, in spite of how hard he had tried
to keep his distance, he had grown very fond of this woman, her
beliefs and compassion making more than a mild impression.
It occurred to Bob that they could purposely slow down, eventually
lagging so far behind they would be on their own, but that didn't seem
right to him. He counted a lot of the men in the Brotherhood as his
friends and deserting them with the madman that had become John Jacobs
was not an option he was comfortable with. Loyalty went deep in the
backwoods of Montana.
The FBI man was leaning on him pretty heavily and he was amazed the
agent hadn't collapsed altogether. He would have to come up with a
better plan.
***********
John Jacobs didn't like being set up. Worse still he didn't like being
set up by a ghost. No matter how many swigs of Jim Beam he took he
couldn't erase the memory of Dixie's blank eyes looking right through
him. At another juncture in his life he would have regarded the
lightning as an act of nature. But not any more. Not now. Dixie was
haunting him. Finishing in the afterlife what she couldn't accomplish
while she was alive.
He was beginning to wish he had made the escape through the mine by
himself, without his team of losers tagging along, when Henry came up
beside him.
"Uh...John," the young man was clearly uncomfortable.
"Speak up boy," John bellowed. "What is it?"
"It's Bo, John. He seems to be taking a turn for the worse. Mary says
he has a high fever and is startin' to say things that don't make much
sense."
John thought about Henry's words, their implications. What he wanted
to do was shoot Bo in the head, like a wounded animal, and put him
and everyone else out of their misery. But he was smart enough to know
he wouldn't get away with it. Hell, he was surprised he'd gotten away
with killing Dixie. But he knew that was different, Dixie had
interfered with a man on a mission. Bo hadn't done anything wrong.
"Okay," John finally answered. "We'll stop here for a bit. Go an' get
the doc woman and see if she can do anything for Bo. But we stop for
no more than 20 minutes. And then we move on, with or without Bo." He
added the last part of the sentence for good measure. John Jacobs was
still in charge and no one better forget it.
***********
Bob was practically carrying Mulder, most of the agent's weight
resting on the young man's shoulders, when he saw Henry approaching.
"It's Bo," Henry said by way of introduction. "He's gettin' worse. He
has a high fever and John wants her to look at him." He motioned
towards Scully, unable to make eye contact with the woman he viewed as
an innocent bystander caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Bob looked at Mulder and then back at Scully. "Let's get him over to
that tree," he said, pointing to a large oak about ten feet away.
"Tenille and I will stay with him while you go check on Bo."
Scully had no choice and merely nodded. She was grateful for the
opportunity to stop walking. For Mulder as well as for herself. The
situation was definitely taking its toll on her, on her body, and she
was beginning to worry about the baby. How long could she go without
food or water before adversely affecting the baby? She denied herself
the answer, refusing to think about the possible complications.
Bo settled Mulder down carefully, stepping back to let Scully bend
down and take a closer look.
"Hey," she whispered, "you hanging in there?"
Mulder attempted a smile, failing miserably. "I'm hanging," he
answered between gasps for air. "You okay?"
Scully smiled, forced but sincere. "Yes," she said firmly. "I'm fine.
And so is the baby," she added, reassurance for both of them. "I'm
going to go check on Bo and be right back. Tenille and Bob will stay
with you, okay?"
Mulder nodded, closing his good eye while Scully felt his forehead. He
could feel the effects of the fever ravaging his body and shivered
slightly as a chill cursed through him. He vaguely remembered telling
himself to stay awake. To keep trying. To hold on. But even sitting
was a major effort. Never mind breathing. He felt Scully move away
from him and heard her say something to someone. He wanted to open his
eyes, to listen, to contribute, but couldn't. He heard the words fever
and pneumonia and warm. Was that Bo she was talking about? Or was it
him? Mulder had a sinking feeling it was him, but he lacked the energy
to ask. Or the will to stay awake.
***********
Bo was running a low grade fever, nothing that would make him
delirious, and for all intents and purposes Scully found him to be
reasonably healthy.
"I'm fine," Bo growled, pushing Scully's hand away from his forehead.
"It's Mary, she started all this. I think she's goin' crazy."
Scully recognized Mary as one of the women that had been so attached
to Dixie. The young wife of one of the Brothers, she was no more than
25 years-old with very long, blond hair and blue eyes that were
permanently clouded with bitter memories.
"I guess I'll go talk to Mary, then," Scully said, leaving Bo and
walking to where the young woman stood, alone, about ten feet away
from where everyone had gathered.
Mary was rubbing her arms vigorously, rocking herself back and forth
as if cold, but Scully realized right away that Mary was shaking. She
was terrified of something.
"Mary..."
"There ain't nothin' wrong with Bo," Mary whispered, a low sob
punctuating her words.
"What?" Scully didn't understand.
"Your man, he's dyin'. He needed to stop walkin'." Mary rubbed her
arms harder.
Scully wanted to take her in her arms, to stop her from shaking, to
tell her she would be okay, that she had done the right thing, but
instead she just stared. The right words escaping her. "I...um...thank
you," she finally said. "You're right, he did need to stop walking but
unfortunately, short of hitting Bo on the head, I don't think I can
make him rest for any length of time."
Mary smiled for the first time in days. "I wish you *would* hit Bo
over the head," she said. "He's been driving us crazy ever since he
started feelin' better." Mary turned serious again and looked in the
direction of John Jacobs. "John," she whispered, "he's really drunk. I
sorta thought if he sat down for a few minutes he might doze off and
you two could make a run for it."
My man is dyin', Scully thought to herself bitterly. He's not going to
be doing any running in the near future. "I appreciate that, Mary,
but..."
"No, look," Mary interrupted, eyes bulging with excitement. "He's
nodding off."
Scully stared at John Jacobs' prostate form in disbelief. Mary was
right. Jacobs had found a tree stump and had fallen asleep. "But won't
the men wake him, urge him to keep moving?" Dana though out loud.
"No one would ever dare wake up John Jacobs," Mary said ominously.
"They woulda never done it before and they surely ain't gonna do it
now."
Scully nodded, understanding. She touched Mary's shoulder gently and
smiled her appreciation. Mary smiled in return and went to join her
husband.
Scully stopped by Bo before making her way back to Mulder. If only for
the sake of appearances. "Bo, from what Mary tells me, you had a
pretty high fever," she said in her irritating doctor mode. "You're
lucky it's gone down. If you don't want a relapse of what ailed you in
the first place I suggest you take it easy for a while."
Bo didn't flinch, instead he looked at John's sleeping form and
replied sarcastically, "I guess I ain't got much choice now."
Scully didn't bother to respond, choosing instead to turn her back on
him and join her husband as quickly as she could. The sight of Mulder
made her choke back tears. He was asleep and covered with a blanket,
but his face spoke volumes as to the pain and agony he was going
through.
Bob and Tenille were sitting on his right, holding hands. Scully chose
to sit on Mulder's other side, but not before checking his pulse and
feeling his cheek and forehead. She took his hand in hers and held it,
not trusting herself to speak without breaking down. All she wanted
was to put her head on his chest and go to sleep. Hoping that when she
woke up, the nightmare would be over.
"How's Bo?" Tenille managed to ask.
"Fine," Scully answered quietly. "I told him he should rest for a
while." She paused. She needed a plan of action. No, they needed a
plan, she thought ruefully. There was very little, if anything, she
would be able to do on her own.
"John's asleep," she said softly, pausing for effect. "We need to come
up with a plan of action. Right now, the way I see it, Jacobs is the
one looking at a life sentence without the possibility of parole. The
rest of you might serve some time for aiding and abetting, but that's
minor. Kidnapping two federal agents is a major offense. If you work
with me, if you help us, chances are most of the big charges will be
dropped."
Bob was letting it all sink in. "Are you a federal agent?"
"Yes."
"You're not a paramedic?"
"No. I was trained as a medical doctor but I work as a special agent
for the FBI." She looked at Mulder before continuing. "This is my
partner." She had begun to trust Bob in the last few hours but still
wasn't comfortable telling him everything. If Mary knew Mulder was
'her man' she assumed Tenille did as well. Bob would find out soon
enough.
As was his style, Bob didn't answer right away, letting the
information sink in, a possible course of action develop, before
speaking.
Scully knew from experience the situation was a delicate one and she
needed to act accordingly. Any plan, in order for it to be successful,
had to come from Bob, from one of their own. It would have to benefit
the Brotherhood and be for that purpose, not for the purpose of
freeing the federal agents. And although she had several suggestions
she wanted to make, she held her tongue. For all his kindness in the
last couple of hours, Bob had still been John's sidekick for many
years, in a man's world where a woman's opinion didn't carry much
credence. Scully knew she had to tread carefully.
After a few minutes, Bob finally spoke. "I think I might have an
idea," he said slowly, still thinking. "I'm going to go and run it by
some of the guys. I'll explain it when I get back." With that he stood
up and walked away.
Scully wanted to stop him, to yell after him, but didn't. Instead, she
looked over at Tenille, who was intently watching him disappear into
the crowd. "I hope he knows what he's doing," Scully mumbled.
"Me too." Was all the young woman could say before finding a
comfortable spot on the ground where she could sleep, and possibly
dream of a better future.
Scully leaned her head against Mulder's shoulder, grateful that
Tenille had nothing to say to her either, and closed her eyes. Only
for a second, she told herself. Every instinct told her to run. She
was fairly certain no one would go after her. Just as certain as she
was that Mulder would die where she left him. She didn't know the
backwoods of Montana and in the dark she wouldn't get very far very
quickly. No, she would rather die with Mulder than alone trying to get
help.
The desire to sleep was overwhelming and Mulder's steady wheezing was
a difficult lullaby to resist. Against her better judgment, she
dropped her guard and slept.
Outside the compound
4 A.M.
Walter Skinner leaned over the makeshift table, his eyes scanning the
map in front of him, looking for anything he might have missed the
first 20 times.
"Walt, you're not going to do anyone any good if you don't get any
sleep." Spencer Thornley looked like he had been to hell and back in
the last two days. And trying to keep up with Walter Skinner wasn't
helping.
"I thought I told you to get some sleep," Skinner didn't bother
looking up from the map. "Come daybreak I'm out of here, with or
without you."
"I've already told you you're not going into those backwoods without
me, A.D. Smart Ass." At last Thornley got Skinner to look up. "Now,
what the hell is it you keep looking for on that map?"
Skinner sat down and took his glasses off, rubbing his tired eyes
while he spoke to his friend. "I don't know, really. I keep thinking
there must be a trail somewhere, a path, something to enable the
Yeomen to quickly and easily make it to the border. I'm sure that's
where they're headed."
Thornley shook his head. "I know what you're saying Walt, but there's
nothing there. That's as comprehensive a map as you're going to get
and we've been over it a dozen times. We'll just have to get in there,
on foot, and look for them that way. For all we know they may still be
in the mine."
"You're right," Skinner sighed, putting his glasses back on and
glancing at the map one more time. "I just wish we knew where to
begin. The weather forecast doesn't look good, so our window for
getting in and out is a lot smaller than it was."
Thornley nodded. The thought had already crossed his mind an hour ago.
A severe rain storm was predicted for later that day and if they were
in the middle of the forest when it hit, they would have to wait it
out before a helicopter could come back in for them. "We'll find
them," he said, in a distant, not so convincing voice. "In the
meantime, why don't you get some shut eye. Daybreak is less than two
hours from now, you'll be lucky if you can catch an hour's sleep."
Skinner nodded as Thornley walked past him and out of the tent. When
his friend was out of sight, he looked at the map in front of him one
more time.
***********
Somewhere in the backwoods of Montana
5:30 A.M.
Dana Scully was running, running as fast as she could from the
Blackfoot Indian that was chasing her. He was carrying a handful of
leaves and plants and he was trying to give them to her. But they had
started to smoke in her hands the last time she had held them and she
was afraid. She didn't want them but he kept insisting. She ran and
he ran after her, shouting words she couldn't understand, throwing
leaves into the wind, in the hopes that she would catch them.
Dana was out of breath, out of energy to keep running, and she had to
stop. When she did, she felt an uncontrollable urge to turn around, to
face the Blackfoot that had so haunted her dreams. What she saw gave
her a staggering sense of peace and she nearly lost her balance and
fell. The Blackfoot was gone and Dixie was in his place, holding the
same leaves and plants the surreal Indian had tried to give her. Dana
could hear Dixie's voice, distant and soothing. "Take them," she said.
"He needs them." The old woman's outstretched hands reached Dana's and
she handed her everything she was holding. Dana marveled at the beauty
of the leaves as she turned them over slowly. She was going to ask
Dixie what they were for and how to use them when her hands started
shaking. They were shaking so violently everything fell to the ground.
"Ma'am, Ma'am," wake up." Tenille was whispering, shaking Scully by
the shoulders in an effort to wake her up.
"What...where?" Mulder's coughing immediately brought her to the
present. His fever was up and his cough was now thick and wet. Scully
didn't like the sound of it.
"He's not soundin' so good," Tenille said softly. "I'm sorry I woke
you, I thought you'd want to know."
"Don't be sorry, Tenille. I appreciate your waking me. It was the
right thing to do." Scully looked around and noticed that a few
lanterns were still on about 30 feet in front of them. "Where's Bob?"
"He's still talking to the guys. He came back about an hour ago, said
he thought they had figured out a way out of this and he'd be back
with the details as soon as he could."
"It's going to be daylight soon," Scully muttered. She was going to
say something else when she felt Mulder shifting beside her. "Hey,
sleepyhead. How you doin'?" Scully couldn't help but notice she had
picked up the native's habit of dropping the g off of everything.
"I think I've been better," Mulder replied honestly. "What's going
on?"
Scully filled him in, pausing every time he had to cough, stroking his
forehead tenderly while she spoke. "Don't talk now," she whispered
when she had finished. "You need to conserve your energy."
"What energy?" Mulder mused. Once again his inappropriate sense of
humor amazed Scully. It also reminded her of why she loved him as much
as she did.
"Ma'am?" Tenille was looking at Scully with big eyes, wondering if it
was okay to interrupt.
"Dana, Tenille. Please call me Dana."
"Okay, Dana," Tenille began, picking up speed with every word. "I've
got Dixie's Thermos and there's a little bit of that stuff left she
made for him earlier. You wanna try givin' him some more?"
"I'll try anything at this point," Dana answered sincerely. "How 'bout
some of that snakebite medicine?" she said to Mulder with a wink.
"Mmm." Mulder forced himself to sit up in anticipation.
***********
John Jacobs thought he had outpaced them, outsmarted them. The
Blackfoot posse that was after him had ridden right by and didn't see
him hiding behind a clump of trees. He was laughing out loud when he
saw the shadow across his eyes. He reached for his gun, but it was
gone. With lightning speed he was hurled around to face the enemy.
What he saw made him scream. The blood curdling, high pitched scream
of a man marked for death.
***********
The arnica tea Dixie had made was still warm, thanks to the vacuum
flask she kept it in, and Mulder drank it eagerly, anticipating a full
recovery.
"That's enough," Scully whispered. "Remember Dixie said too much can
kill you."
"Too much...of...anything can...do that,... Scully," Mulder mused.
"Hey,...where's Dixie? I don't remember...seeing her...for
a....while."
Tenille gasped and Scully stared at Mulder. He didn't know. He didn't
see what had happened. He was probably unconscious when Jacobs had
killed her.
"What? What...is it?" Panic was creeping into Mulder's voice. But
before Scully could answer him John Jacobs' scream woke up the forest.
Montana woods,
12 miles from the Canadian border
Just before Daybreak
John Jacobs' eyes flew wide open, but he couldn't focus on anything
but the last vision of his dream. Dixie, dressed in full Blackfoot
leathers, her dress resplendent with feathers and beads, her face dark
and angry, coming after him with what he could only assume was some
sort of war club. His heart was still racing as he rubbed his eyes,
trying to dispell the image from his mind. He jumped a foot when
Henry's arm touched his own.
"John? What's the matter, John?" the younger man asked anxiously. He
was obviously frightened at the sight of his leader so shaken by a
mere dream. Maybe whatever had killed Jeremiah Miller and afflicted
Bo was now working on Jacobs, too. Henry was certain they would all
be lost if that ever came to pass.
It took a few minutes, but Jacobs gathered his wits and looked around.
"Where the hell is everyone," he barked, ignoring the confused look on
Henry's young face.
"You fell asleep, John. Everybody tried to get some shut eye. We've
been walking all night, John," Henry tried to reason. "Folks are
gettin' tired. Besides, it's almost sunup."
Jacobs looked up and to the east. The faint tinge of purple on the
eastern horizon spoke to how close sunup really was. Then he looked
straight up and noticed that the sky no longer sparkled. The stars,
even visible at this hour of the morning, were hidden behind clouds.
As he watched, the sky in the east took on a reddish hue.
"We're headin' for some bad weather. That should keep the dogs at bay
for a while. Can't get a good scent in the wind, the storm will keep
the 'choppers' grounded. Looks like we have a bit of good luck,
Henry," Jacobs said, a humorless smile on his lips. In his opinion,
it was about time for a little good luck. "Where's Bob?"
Henry looked around for a minute. He hadn't seen Bob for quite a
while. He smiled leacherously. "Off playin' hide the sausage with
Tenille, mor'n likely," he replied. "Those two are like rabbits when
left by their lonesome," he added with a snort.
Jacobs leveled a cold glare at Henry, shutting the young man up
immediately. "Bob needs to learn where to place his priorities,"
Jacobs said menancingly. "You can't run very far with your pants
around your ankles." Henry swallowed hard and nodded meekly.
Mulder looked at Dana's pale face at the sound of Jacobs' scream.
Nothing happened for several minutes and everyone relaxed. "OK,
Scully . . . give it up . . . what happened . . . to Dixie?" he asked
with ragged breaths. Even with fevered eyes, his gaze cut straight to
her soul.
"She's dead," Dana said with more calm than she felt. "She stopped
Jacobs before he had a chance to finish you off. He turned on her and
killed her." Dana took a deep breath and looked away. "We had to
leave her body by the entrance to the mine."
Mulder closed his eyes and let out a hissing breath. "Bastard."
Slowly he opened his eyes and looked at his wife. "When we . . . get
out of this, . . . Scully, we go back . . . for her. We have to . . .
She saved . . . my life."
It was everything Dana could do to keep from screaming at him. Here
he was, barely able to breathe, and he was talking about coming back
to this Godforsaken country and disposing of a body! At that moment,
she wanted to tell him that she would be the one coming back for a
corpse--his, and taking it back for burial. But she wasn't going to
say that. She wasn't even going to allow herself to think that for
very long.
She had to focus on something else, on helping him. The area they
were resting was mostly forest, a small meadow just a few feet from
them. In the lightening sky of early dawn, she was beginning to make
out the trees above her, the grasses and plants around her. Suddenly,
a spire of a flower caught her eye. It was on a pale green
multi-leafed plant, topped with bright yellow flowers "Lobelia.
Indian tobbaco." The words sprung from her lips without her
knowledge. She recognized the plant as being one of the ones in the
Blackfoot Indian's arms. In Dixie's arms during her last dream.
Much to Tenille's dismay, Dana jumped up and started grabbing handfuls
of plants. "Lobelia, we need the roots, and the herb of the flowers,"
Scully muttered, more to herself. Tenille put a shaky hand on the
agent's arm, causing Dana to look up into the young girl's eyes.
"It's OK. Dixie told me about this. It will help with the pneumonia,
but we need something else. Another plant. Coltsfoot. Have you ever
heard of it?" She waited while Tenille thought for a moment and then
nodded. "We need to gather some of it, too. Then we have to use the
roots and the herbs diluted with water. I think there's a little
stream over there. Quick, find something to get water in. We don't
have much time." Dana was amazed that Tenille jumped to her feet and
ran off toward the stream, returning with an old goatskin flask full
of water. She handed it to Dana with a smile.
"You scared me there for a minute," Tenille admitted sheepishly. "I
thought I lost you, too," she added with eyes downcast. "I'll gather
some more of that stuff for you. You go make the tea, or whatever."
Quickly, she started picking up various plants, roots and all and
placing them in the crook of her arm.
"What else do we need?" she asked after dropping her load next to
Dana.
The agent looked at the plants before her. "Ah, didn't I see a cherry
tree somewhere near here? Wild cherry bark. It's for coughs." She
almost couldn't believe she was doing this. But she had come to trust
Dixie and something inside her knew that Dixie wouldn't steer her
wrong. She couldn't let herself trust the Blackfoot Indian, who she
now realized had been trying to help her as well. But trusting Dixie
was another matter. And Mulder's time was quickly running out.
She put her hand to his forehead and her heart sank when he didn't
even try to bat it away. If Mulder was letting her check him, he
really was feeling bad. His head was hot, his eyes were closed, the
lids dark with almost black circles under them. He wasn't coughing at
all, just wet, ragged breaths that were way too shallow to be
effectively giving him oxygen. If she were in civilzation, she would
have him on a respirator by now. With IV's and antibiotics and 'real'
medicine. She wouldn't be sitting in some forest, trying to 'brew
tea'.
She didn't have time to 'brew tea', even if she could have started a
fire. She took two rocks and ground the leaves and roots between
them, coming up with a sick smelling yellowish-green paste. It was
just foul enough to be considered medicine, she thought wryly. She
had no idea how much to add to the water. Suddenly, in the very back
of her head, she heard Dixie's voice.
**Just a smidge, child. This is potent stuff. Mix it up with the
water, about a cup full, and then give him just a couple of sips. And
don't lick your fingers or get it near your mouth. You don't need
this stuff in ya. He does.**
Dana smiled at the voice and nodded. This was all so crazy, but
suddenly a thought occured to her.
*Dixie, what do I watch for? What will this do?*
**Indian tabbaccy'll clean him out. He'll cough up a storm.
What comes up, well, you know what comes up with pneumonia. You need
to be on the look out for some mayapples. That'll help with the
fever. And snakeroot. After the Indian tabbaccy clears him out,
you'll want to get some snakeroot down him. The Senecas used it. It
looks like this.** A vision of a plant formed in Dana's mind
spontaneously. It had a long stem, 8 to 12 inches in height, with
many leaves and tinged with red. There was a small group of tiny
white flowers with five petals, at the tops of the spires. **That'll
help with the lingerin' cough. We done all we can for the brok'd
bones, but a little more arnica will help with the pain. He'll still
need some 'doctorin', but we can keep him with you 'til help
arrives.**
Dana blinked and realized she had just had a conversation with a
ghost. she vowed. He would
never let her hear the end of it. Some secrets were better kept to
herself, no matter how close she was to her husband.
Bob had managed to assemble seven or eight of the Brotherhood that he
thought he could trust. They had been just as rattled by Jacobs
recent actions as he was. He decided not to tell them that Dana was
an FBI agent, he didn't know if that would really help her cause. So
he told them what she had said, but said it came from Mulder. Some of
them had scoffed, but none of them denied that it was more than likely
that only Jacobs would be held responsible for his actions. Not one
of them still believed in the Justice System of the United States, but
Jacobs had crossed the line when he killed Dixie Miller. Still,
acknowledging that Jacobs was now a liablity was a long way from
actually doing anything about it, and every one of the men before Bob
was scared of Jacobs. They knew for a fact that the others still
believed in the cause, regardless of what had been happening. Some of
the others were as bloodthirsty as Jacobs, they just had managed to
hold themselves in check. Given the right circumstance, there would
be open warfare within the Brotherhood itself. And no one wanted
that.
"OK, then hear me out," Bob said in a rough whisper. "What if we take
the FBI agent and the lady doc and head out on our own." There were
some mutterings from the men. "Look, we can't just sit back and let
him kill that fella. He's gonna do it. That man is a Fed. A Federal
Agent. The last one that died, that was mostly accident. There was
crossfire. This man will die of a beating. They'll find that body
and they really will come after us, all of us." He stared hard at the
men around him. It heartened him to know that none of them stated the
obvious--they could kill the agent and bury him where no one would
ever find him. The men before him weren't killers. They distrusted
authority, but would only kill in self-defense and killing Mulder at
this point would only be like torturing an animal and killing it for
spite. This was a human being they were talking about and none of
them had the stomach for that.
A few dozen yards away, hidden by the clump of tall trees, Dana lifted
Mulder's head from where he was reclining against the gnarled roots of
an ancient oak. "Here, drink this," she said in a loving voice. He
didn't even bother to open his eyes, she suspected he didn't have the
energy.
The mixture smelled as bad with water as it had without. Mulder
wrinkled his nose and shook his head weakly. "You're . . . trying to
. . . poison me . . . for the insurance," he joked. But finally he
opened his lips and let some of the mixture slide down his parched
throat. "That . . . sucks, . . . Scully," he hissed and screwed up
his face to prove the point.
"Sorry. Dixie mixed sugar in with her tea, I suspect. But you need
this stuff, Fox. So don't argue with me, OK?" He opened his one good
eye at the use of his first name. This must be serious. He nodded
and dutifully drank another mouthful, gratefully drinking down the
water she offered as a chaser.
She sat back and rubbed his hand, checking his pulse as she did so.
It was rapid and that worried her. She wished she had some idea of
all of his problems. "Mulder," she whispered. He turned his head
toward her in answer. "Can I examine you?"
"Thought . . . you'd never . . . ask," he whispered and tried for a
leer that failed miserably. She hadn't had a chance to get a good
look at him while it was still night. Now, in the light of the gloomy
day, she could see that his injuries went a lot farther than she had
already imagined.
His skin was still covered with blood in spots, places where Jacobs
boots had make cuts and gashes. What wasn't bloody was pale, almost
pasty. When she pressed on it, her fingerprint left an even paler
impression that didn't fade for several seconds and his skin had no
resilience. He was dehydrated, severely, from the looks of it. she thought to herself and made him take
several more sips before continuing the examination.
Carefully, she ran her hand down his sides and cringed as he jumped
and moaned in pain. It was no longer just the left side of his
ribcage that was broken, the right side had some fractures, too. She
pulled back his loose shirt and looked at his stomach and back. There
weren't several bruises, as she had initally thought she'd find. There
was one big bruise. It extented from just above his naval half way
around his back on the right side of his body. Gently, she pressed on
it and again was horrified by the pain her touch inflicted. "I know
you haven't gone to the bathroom for a while, but when you do, I want
you to look for blood in your urine. And I want you to tell me if you
find any. Hear me, Mulder? Don't hide that from me. It's
important," she said in her fiercest voice.
"You know . . . my mom thinks . . . you're a lady. . . Just shot . .
that image . . . to hell," he gasped. She flashed him an icy glare.
"I'll tell you . . . I promise."
She nodded in satisfaction and continued her search for additional
injuries. His left knee was swollen, but fortunately there were no
more broken bones that she could detect. She had suspected as much
when he was able to walk as far as he had. Finally, she finished and
covered him again with the blanket Tenille had left for her. She
looked around for Tenille. The girl had finished collecting the
leaves, roots and bark and had then gone off in search of Bob.
Scully still wasn't sure of what Bob was trying to accomplish,
speaking with the other members of the Brotherhood. She figured it
was hopeless, since none of them seemed to have the courage to
confront Jacobs. She really wished she had her gun or could get Bob
to let her have his. The thought of killing Jacobs didn't bother her
at all at this point. Suddenly, she heard Tenille scream.
Tenille had been looking for the arnica that Dana had mentioned and
Dixie had once shown her. It tended to grow in the forest and she had
noticed a patch of it near a stand of long needled pines. She was
stooping over to pick the stems and flowers when Jacobs had come up
behind her. "Where's that old man of yours, girl?" Jacobs demanded.
He had still been drinking, but the look in his eyes wasn't from
alcohol. It was a madness that comes from the death of a soul.
Tenille straighten up and just looked at him, saying nothing.
"You deaf and dumb, girl? Or just dumb?" Jacobs cackled. "Where is
he? Where's Bob?" Jacobs' voice was growing louder and sounded more
like a roar with each word.
Tenille was terrified. She had just seen Bob, talking to a couple of
the other men. Of course, they weren't talking loud enough for anyone
else to overhear, but from the looks on their faces, Tenille was
fairly certain that they were trying to figure out a way to save the
FBI agent's life and possibly, get away from Jacobs in the process.
All the men with Bob were known to be less than fervent in their
loyality to Jacobs. If Jacobs found the group, huddled together
without his knowledge or approval, he would know what was up and would
kill them all on the spot. So Tenille continued to do the only thing
she could think of, keep her mouth shut.
By this time, Jacobs noticed the plants in Tenille's hands. "What you
got there, girl?" he growled. "You eatin' grass and weeds, now?" He
reached over and grabbed Tenille by the hair at the back of her head,
pulling her head back with a cruel yank. "You wouldn't be gatherin'
that for that Fed, now, would you?" His voice was deep and menancing.
"Taken a fancy to him, have you?" Jacobs accused. "Maybe you don't
care *who* you lie down with, huh, bitch?"
In an earlier part of her life, Tenille would have simply let the
tears fall down her cheeks and continued the silence. But now, after
seeing the one woman in the world who had ever shown her kindness
murdered before her own eyes, something in Tenille snapped. The anger
in her eyes burned right into Jacobs brain. Then, suddenly, Tenille
spit right in his face.
That was all it took to push Jacobs over the edge. With the same fury
that he had inflicted on Mulder and Dixie, Jacobs pulled back his
massive fist and punched Tenille in the face. Her head snapped back
with the force and she screamed. His next punch landed on her
shoulder, throwing her back against a rock.
By now, Tenille was over the shock of the first punch and it was
survival taking over for any common sense. She ducked her head and
ran head long into the big man, as hard as her weight and anger could
carry her. Tenille had a good 20 to 25 pounds on Dixie, and she was
much younger. Jacobs never expected the 'rag doll' in front of him to
fight back. A cruel sneer formed on his lips. Maybe this was going
to turn out to be fun after all.
Jacobs swung his foot around and dropped Tenille to the hard rock
floor of the forest. It knocked the breath out of her and he took the
opportunity to straddle her, pinning her arms with his knees. After a
few seconds, Tenille was fighting back again, although she was fairly
ineffective in her current position. Her hands tried to claw at
Jacobs' thighs, tantalizingly close to her nails, but just far enough
out of reach to infuriate her. When he leaned over and brushed the
hair out of her face, she nipped at him with her teeth. The fury was
in her eyes and she was mad enough to kill. Unfortunately, Jacobs had
other activities on his mind.
Jacobs leered at her and then ripped her shirt open, buttons flying in
all directions. Nothing else mattered to him at that moment. Having
his way with the girl was the only thing on his mind. That was why he
didn't hear Bob come up behind him.
It didn't take Bob long to figure out exactly what was going on. And
it took less time than that for him to make his decision. He raised
his rifle and took aim at Jacobs' head. Just as he pulled the
trigger, Henry slammed into him from the side and the shot went wild,
hitting Jacobs in the left shoulder. Jacobs howled in pain and fell
to the left, allowing Tenille a chance to escape. She picked herself
up and ran as fast as she could toward a rock overhang a few dozen
yards away.
Henry and Bob were struggling for the rifle Bob was still holding
tight. After a few minutes, Bob was able to push Henry off him and
club him once with the butt of the gun, knocking him unconscious.
Jacobs pain slowed him down, but only for a moment. Now he was
furious and murder was the only action that would satisfy him. He
shook off the fog growing around the edges of his vision and saw
Tenille, climbing up the side of the rock face, headed for the
overhang. He snarled and rose to his feet, grabbing his shoulder, but
running after her all the same.
Tenille was fairly light on her feet, and unharmed for the most part,
so she had little trouble making it to the overhang. From there, she
could see the floor of the valley below, over 50 feet down. She
wasn't really sure at that point why she had gone there, but some
voice inside her head pointed her in that direction and she wasn't
going to question it. Now that she was there she was all too aware of
how easy it would be to fall over the edge and be killed on the rocks
below. She drew in her breath and looked fearfully around her for a
safe way off the cliff.
Jacobs might have been hurting, but that only helped pump the
adreniline through his veins. He was up the side of the rock face
almost as quickly as Tenille. Once on the top, he sneered at the
young girl, letting loose with an inhuman laugh that made her tremble
to her very bones. Bob heard him and took aim with the rifle, certain
that he wouldn't miss this time. But he never had a chance to fire
the weapon.
Jacobs was moving toward Tenille, a menancing smile plastered on his
face, cooing words he never meant as he got closer and closer. His
intent was to shove her over the edge and watch as her slim body
bounced off the rocks below. He was only three feet from his goal
with the skies above grew suddenly black and once again, lightning
streaked through the air.
Time stood still for John Jacobs. At the flash of light, his
attention left Tenille and turned to look over his left shoulder.
There, riding on the clouds, came the Blackfoot war party, whooping
and screaming their anger and fury. In the lead was the same
Blackfoot warrior who had haunted his dreams for the past two days and
nights. He cringed when he felt the rumble of the horses hooves as
they jumped off the clouds and clattered onto the rock overhang.
Sheilding his eyes, Jacobs spun around to jump off the rock on the
side he ascended. It was only 10 or 15 feet to the ground and he
would surely make it. But as he took a step, Dixie appeared out of
thin air, dressed as a Blackfoot warrior, with the war club in her
hand. She swung at him and he felt the blade of the club slice the
air near his right ear. She swung again and he felt the sharp sting
as the blade sliced into his right shoulder. The next swing would
take his head off, he knew that.
Wild eyed, with the warriors bearing down on him from one side and
Dixie effectively blocking his path on the other, Jacobs ran headlong
off the cliff, past a horrified Tenille. As his body hit the floor of
the valley 50 feet below, the storm broke open overhead. The wind was
blowing at gale force and hail the size of quarters was pounding
everything not under some sort of shelter.
It took only a second for Bob to reach Tenille. He didn't have much
time to look over the edge and see the Yeoman leader, crumbled in a
mass below. He hugged Tenille tightly to him and half pulled, half
carried her off the overhang. The storm was growing in intensity,
with lightning striking trees all around them. Bob looked around and
could see that the rest of the Brotherhood had already taken flight,
some heading toward the Canadian border, from the path they made
through the trees and underbrush. He leaned over and shouted
something to Tenille.
"We gotta make a run for it, baby," his voice was just barely heard
above the fury of the storm.
Tenille shook her head emphatically. "No! Dana and that agent.
They'll never make it back. We gotta help 'em," she shouted in
return.
Bob flashed her an exasperated look. "Babe, we can't help 'em. We'll
jest git ourselves killed. Or jailed. Either way our best shot is
Canada. The border's only 12 miles. When we git there, we'll call
somebody, tell 'em where to search." He pleaded for her to understand
him. "I promise, Tenille. I swear to God we'll call and git 'em
help. Now c'mon." He pulled at her arm and she stood firm.
She glared at him as he stood before her, illuminated only by the
lightning that was striking all around them. "NO! I'm gonna help.
If you're scared, go on. Run. Jest don't expect me to follow." She
pulled her arm out of his grasp and started off toward the oak tree
where Mulder had been resting.
"Tenille!" he shouted. "Tenille, you get your sorry ass back here and
come with me! Tenille, Goddammit, I'm leavin'! I mean it!" he yelled
and yelled until he was sure she couldn't hear a word he was saying
over the noise of the storm. "Goddamn you, woman! I don't need your
sorry ass hangin' off me! I kin make it on my own, Tenille!" He
stood staring after her, but finally ducked his head and started for
Canada.
Dana was pretty much oblivious to all that had happened after she
heard Tenille's scream. She wanted more than anything to run after
the young girl and help her, but the mixture she had given Mulder was
starting to take effect. The first coughs were rough, his ribs burned
like fire. They were nothing compared to what quickly followed and
she found herself hugging him tightly from behind, supporting his
ribcage as he coughed and hacked up the phlegm and fluids that were
clogging his lungs.
There was almost no rest between the spasms of coughing, and Dana
began to feel that the pain and the shock might kill him if he wasn't
able to get a deep breath soon. He was growing weaker by the moment.
She was focused on Mulder and didn't notice the growing storm until
they were pelted by the hail that fell like bottlecap sized snowballs
around them. Snowballs that stung and cut with sharp edges.
Realizing they were under a very large, tall lightning rod in the form
of the ancient oak, Dana searched around frantically for some better
location. It would have to be close, she didn't think she could carry
her partner very far.
"Mulder," she shouted over the thunder that was ringing in her ears.
"We have to move."
"Yesh, . . . , Move . . . now! Go!" he said and tried
to push her away.
"No way, Mulder! You're coming, too," she shouted back and pulled
harder. She was amazed at how easy it was to move him. Suddenly, she
realized it was because she had help. She looked up and saw Tenille's
bruised face smiling at her. "Tenille, what . . . ?"
"I'll tell y'all later. Right now, we gotta git over t' that pile o'
rocks over there," Tenille shouted. Dana nodded and together they
pulled Mulder into a safer position in a crag of rocks and boulders.
The two women positioned him as best as they could. Dana sat holding
him as he continued to cough, still bringing up the phlegm.
Desparately, she tried to remember which plant Dixie had told her
would work for the cough. It seemed to be dryer than it was and not
as much fluid was coming up.
**Snakeroot, child. Snakeroot. And the cherry bark. The inner bark
ain't so rough, have him chew on it some. It'll help.**
She blinked her eyes and shook her head. This was definitely getting
to be too much for her limited belief in the paranormal. But she
didn't feel she had any other options. "Mulder. Mulder. Fox, can
you hear me?" she said right in his ear so she could be heard above
the storm. He nodded imperceptively. "I want you to chew on this
bark." He turned his head and gave her a worried look. "I mean it.
It's OK. It's cherry bark. It might ease the cough a little." She
gave him an encouraging smile and he gave her a dubious look, but
accepted the slivers of inner bark she had pulled from the pieces
Tenille had collected earlier. He coughed several more times, but the
bark did seem to be helping.
"Tenille, what happened to Jacobs?" Dana asked anxiously.
"He's dead. Fell of the cliff. Jumped, really, if you believe that,"
she answered bitterly. What now?" Tenille whispered as the coughing
fits subsided and Mulder lapsed into an uneasy slumber. "He ain't
goin' too far like that," she pointed out.
"I won't leave him," Dana shot out angrily, then at the stricken look
on the girl's face, she softened her tone. "I'm sorry, Tenille. I
just can't go. Could you find your way back to the compound? I'm
sure the FBI still has the mobile headquarters there, conducting the
search. You could bring back help."
Tenille looked out into the storm and thought hard. "I don't know the
way back," she admitted sadly. "I don't have much sense for
directions. Besides, we were underground most of the time. I don't
even know which way the compound is at this point, do you?"
Dana thought for a moment. It would naturally be south, but then
again, it could be southeast or southwest of their present location.
And a miss was in reality as good as a mile out in the forest they
were in. With the storm raging, it would take nothing to turn a
person around and they could wander for hours in circles. Sending
Tenille might actually only get the girl lost or killed. Dana fought
the angry tears in her eyes. "Then I'll go," she said with
resignation.
Tenille's eyes grew wild. "No! You can't! Your the doctor, here.
He needs you to stay. What could I do? I don't know anything about
this stuff. He'll die, we both know that. Besides, I don't think you
know the way back any better'n I do," Tenille said with a gloat.
"We have to do something," Dana hissed and just then noticed the
figure coming through the trees, searching around the area of the
ancient oak.
"And the rest of the Brotherhood?" Dana continued as the stranger
started making his way over to the crag of rocks they were in. "What
happened to them?"
"Scattered like mice. Some went to Canada. No, not mice, rats," she
said angrily, thinking of the taunts Bob had hurled at her as she
walked away from him. "The rats went to Canada."
"Well, one of the rats is back," Dana said, pointing out the opening
between two boulders. Tenille looked where she was pointing and
jumped up in excitement.
"Bob!" she shouted, getting his attention. "Bob, we're over here!
Bob, in the rocks! We're here! We're here!" she shouted happily.
***********
FBI mobile headquarters,
Yeoman Brotherhood Compound
Daybreak
Walter Skinner hadn't slept a wink. He had spent the last two hours
scouring the maps he had, bullying the helicopter pilots and generally
making an ass of himself. he thought to himself.
he realized.
Spence Thornley picked his way through the crowd of men and found
Skinner. "Walt, I just talked to the the National Weather Service out
of Billings. There is a massive cell of storms heading this way.
It'll be rocking and rolling here in just a little bit, probably off
and on for the rest of the day." He saw the AD frown and clench his
hands into fists.
"Then we go without 'choppers," he barked in response.
"Walt, there have been men searching the ground all night. They were
underground, the dogs can't pick up a scent. We need those choppers
to give us any kind of an idea where they might be. You know that.
This storm might have a bigger break than they're expecting. But to
try to find those people otherwise would be nothing more than a
cluster fuck and you know that. And to put those choppers up in the
middle of a frigging thunderstorm would be criminal."
"So what do you suggest we do, Agent Thornley?" Skinner growled.
"The same thing you would suggest if you let yourself use your head
instead of your heart, Walter," Spence said, putting his hand on
Skinner's shoulder. "We wait. And we take every opportunity that
comes our way."
***********
Montana Woods
12 miles from the Canadian Border
1 hour after daybreak
"Well, there ain't no way we're gonna carry him out, not in this," Bob
sighed ruefully as he looked out on the torrents of rain coming from
the sky. The lightning and thunder had subsided, but the wind was
still strong enough to blow a man over and the rain was coming down in
sheets. Bob could barely make out the oak tree just some ten feet
from where they were sitting.
The rocks made a makeshift cave, but a wet one. There were rivulets
of water washing down the rocks and puddling where they sat. It had
taken some maneuvering to get Mulder in a tiny corner where the rain
didn't reach him directly, but with the wind blowing and no real roof,
he was still quickly getting soaked to the skin.
"We can't stay here," Dana pointed out for the fourth time in the last
hour since Bob's arrival. "Somebody has to go for help."
Bob looked at her and then at Tenille. He had decided about 15
minutes after seeing Tenille walk off without him that he wasn't going
to let her get out of his life that easily. Walking into a compound
filled with FBI agents had not been on his list of things he would
consider doing to get her back. Walking off a cliff, walking to the
end of the earth, walking to the moon, maybe, but walking into a nest
of Federal vipers, no way. He could see the wheels turning in
Tenille's little head and he immediately put up a protest.
"Stop that thinkin' right there, girl!" he commanded. "I came back
because you're hell bent for leather to help these two and truth be
told, they need it. But there is no way in hell I'm walking back to
that compound. First off, they're liable to shoot first and ask
questions later. Second off, who says they'll believe me if I told
'em I knew where this clump of rocks was, anyway. More'n likely I'll
get thrown in some hell hole of a county lock up and left to rot for
God knows how long," he sputtered angrily.
Tenille looked at him calmly. "He can't walk, Bob. Any fool can see
that. She's a doctor. She can't leave him here. I don't have a
snowball's chance in hell of finding my way back, *alone*, but if you
were to guide me, I could go into the compound first. They'll listen
to me. They think all us women were hostages, anyway. They figgered
we were being held against our will. So they won't shoot at me. By
the time I get 'em started back here, you can come outta hidin' or run
for the hills or learn to fly, for all the good it'll do 'em. All's
they care about is their own, we both know that." She put her hand up
to his cheek and caressed it gently. "Now, quit being such a sissy
and let's git a move on before that storm really starts up agin," she
said with a mocking grin but love in her eyes.
Bob saw the look she was giving him and leaned into her hand to kiss
her palm. "I ain't no sissy, woman," he growled affectionately. "Ah,
hell, c'mon. Let's not take all day to do this." He pulled her to
her feet and together they squeezed out between the two rocks at the
opening. Tenille turned back for just a second.
"We'll bring help as fast as we can, Dana. I swear it, . . . on
Dixie's life, I swear it," she said in her quiet voice. Dana couldn't
be sure if it was rain on her face, or tears that had fallen from her
eyes. Then, they were gone.
They were out of her sight almost immediately. All that was left was
the rain and the wind and Mulder's ragged breathing. He did seem to
be breathing easier, now that the congestion had cleared up a bit.
But it was very apparent that these backwoods home remedies were
stopgap measures at best. What he really needed, and quickly, was a
nice, warm, dry hospital with all the medical technology the late 20th
Century had to offer.
Her own stomach grumbled and threatened to rebel. She hadn't eaten
anything in so long, she couldn't remember. She was not so afraid of
dehydration at the moment, if anything, the opposite was the problem.
But no food for so long was making her weak and she feared for
herself, the baby and Mulder. If she fell asleep now, and he needed
her, would she wake up? She was exhausted, but forced her eyes open.
When sleep threatened again, she started talking.
"Mulder?" she asked, shaking his shoulder gently. "Wake up. You need
to drink some more."
Groggily, he turned toward her. She had ripped a corner from his
shirt and had used it to make a compress for his black eye using the
arnica that was at the bottom of the thermos. The swelling had gone
down enough for him to open it a slit. He took a while longer than
she had hoped to come awake and he had difficulty focusing on her, but
finally he made contact.
" . . . thirsty . . . " he agreed and she lifted the goatskin up to
his lips and gave him a drink.
"Tenille and Bob went back to the compound to get help. The cavalry's
on the way, Mulder. We just have to hold out till they get here," she
said with a reassuring smile.
" . . . if we don't . . . drown first," he rasped and coughed hard.
He drew in a ragged breath and closed his eyes against the pain.
"What happened . . . to Jacobs?" he asked after a moment.
"Tenille said he jumped off a cliff," Dana said with wonderment in her
voice. "I think he attacked her. She has a black eye and a bruised
cheek and her blouse was torn. I can't understand why Bob didn't just
shoot him. He had the rifle and I'm sure I heard gunfire."
" . . . maybe that's . . . how he fell," Mulder reasoned as he shifted
to find a more comfortable position. It was a futile effort. Every
way he moved just left him aching even more. Finally he gave up.
"Dana?"
She looked at him in answer.
"You were . . . concerned . . . about . . ." he stopped to cough again
and finally caught his breath. " . . . there's a sharp pain . . .
bad . . . in the small of my back." He moved his arm to show her.
When she pressed, he let out a howl. " . . . that's . . . the place
all right," he said through gritted teeth.
Dana closed her eyes tightly. "OK, Dixie, now what?" she whispered.
There was no soft country accent in the back of her mind.
"Dana? Who . . . are you talking to?" Mulder rasped.
"Shhhh," Dana said to quiet him. She sat absolutely still again for
several minutes. When she opened her eyes, it was as if a lightbulb
had gone off in her head. The rain had let up a bit and she quickly
hopped out between the rocks and was back in a moment with some leaves
of a plant that were large and course, hairy with shiny edges.
" they teach you this . . . at Georgetown?" he asked with a half
snort, half cough.
"No," came her sharp reply. "And if you try and tell anyone I'm doing
this, I will deny every word of it, Fox Mulder. For some reason, this
stuff is helping and I'm not going to question." Again, using two
rocks to serve as a mortar and pestal, she ground the leaves into a
paste and added some water to the paste in the palm of her hand. He
sipped it and made a face.
"So that's . . . what *hemlock* . . . tastes like," he quipped and
leaned back with his eyes closed from the effort.
"It's not *hemlock*, Socrates! It's *comfrey* and if you *are*
bleeding internally, that might help. Now lie quiet. We have a long
wait ahead of us." She moved over so that she was holding him in her
arms and his head was resting on her chest. "Better?" she asked.
"Ummm," came the reply.
"Good," she said, kissing his forehead as she stroked his hair.
"Rest, Fox. I'll take this watch. You can have the next one," she
murmured into his ear. She kept placing soft kisses on his forehead
even after his breathing had settled into a steady rhythm and she knew
he was asleep.
Montana Woods
10:30 A.M.
In the four hours since they had left the FBI agents, Bob and Tenille
had covered very little ground. If anything, the storm had intensified
since its auspicious beginning and had made every step treacherous.
Tenille had slipped and fallen several times and was covered with
bruises and scratches, not to mention mud, to prove it. Bob had
slipped only once, but it was enough to pummel him down a steep ravine
and cause substantial damage to his left shoulder.
He had stopped walking and was rubbing his shoulder absently when he
felt Tenille's hand on his back and heard her voice in his ear.
"Bob," she was shouting, barely able to hear her own voice above the
din of the storm. "Bob, are you okay?" It was the third time she had
asked since he had fallen and for the third time he nodded.
"I'm fine," he shouted back. "I just don't know where we are. I don't
even know if we're headin' in the right direction anymore." He looked
at her, a mixture of exasperation and anger on his face. "I don't even
know what the hell we're doing, Tenille. Risking our lives for the
very people I've hated all my life. The same people that are going to
throw us in jail the minute they git a chance." He was out of breath,
wet, cold and tired and the pain in his arm was only making him
angrier.
"Bob, don't talk that way," Tenille pleaded. "Dana and the other
agent, they'll die out there if we don't get help." She wasn't getting
to him. Bob's shoulder was throbbing now and he was beyond feeling
sorry for anyone but himself. His stare was transparent and it was
obvious his mind was somewhere else.
"God damn you," Tenille shouted, tears blending with the rain that
fell from her face. At a loss and feeling a surge of pent up anger,
she did the only thing that came to mind, she shoved Bob's battered
shoulder with so much force, he fell to his knees.
"What the...hell?" His words came in quick gasps as he stared up at
Tenille, blinking the rain out of his eyes.
Slowly, no longer feeling the adrenaline pumping through her body,
Tenille bent down in front of him and held his face in her hands. "I
want you to think about the pain in your shoulder, Bob." He didn't
understand. Her voice was strong, authoritarian, and even to her it
sounded foreign. "Think about how it feels. How much you're hurtin'."
"Tenille, what the...?"
"Shh," she answered quickly, covering his mouth with her hand. "Think
about it, Bob. Think about the pain from one lousy fall." She paused
for a moment, letting her words sink in. When he could only stare at
her, unable to say anything, she continued. "Now picture John throwing
the scalding water at the FBI agent, kicking him in the ribs until you
could hear the bones breakin', beatin' him until he was out cold. Now
picture him sittin' in that pile o' rocks, next to his pregnant wife,
wondering if he'll live long enough to meet his baby." Tenille stopped
to take a deep breath. It was hard for her to continue, but she wasn't
finished. "Can you feel your pain, Bob? Can you feel it?" she shouted.
"Can you feel his?"
It took a moment for her words and anger to register, and when they
did, she was no longer in front of him. She was on her feet, with her
back to him, wiping the tears she didn't want him to see.
Even in the pouring rain, with her hair soaking wet and matted to her
face, her clothes tattered and filthy, Tenille managed to elicit
feelings in him he didn't know existed. He didn't quite understand how
she did it, or what it was she was doing exactly, but he suddenly felt
an inexplicable sense of guilt and an overwhelming desire to make it
all better. Unfortunately, words were never his strong point and by
the time he had managed to get on his feet he was no closer to knowing
what to say.
"Tenille, I..." he stammered, resisting the urge to lash out when she
brushed his hand away from her shoulder. "What do you want me to do,
woman? What more do you want from me?" he begged.
Tenille stared at him blankly. If he didn't know by now...
"Okay, look," Bob had decided to take another tack. "We're lost. Ain't
nothin' I can do 'bout that." He looked at her sheepishly, hoping she
would say something, anything. But she said nothing.
They stood in the rain for a long time, in a stalemate, until Tenille
was ready to speak again. When she did, her voice was so low, Bob had
to strain to hear her.
"We have to keep moving," she said matter of factly. "Even if we don't
know where we're headed, we have to keep moving until we run into
someone that can help, or until...until we die tryin'."
She allowed herself to look at Bob, whose eyes were unwavering in his
response. "You're right," he said, taking her by the arm. "Let's go."
Tenille suppressed a smile and let him lead her through the rain and
the brush that surrounded them, finally letting herself laugh out loud
when she heard him mumble under his breath, "God damn woman. I can
only imagine what's in store for the rest of my life. However short it
may be..."
12:45 P.M.
Montana Woods
12 miles from the Canadian border
"No, no...don't take her...take me....please..." Mulder's delirium,
coupled with a coughing fit and subsequent gasping for air, was enough
to wake Scully in a panic. She had resisted sleep for as long as she
could, comforting him every time he moved and winced in pain, every
time he coughed and couldn't breathe, until staying awake was no
longer an option. Until she had no fight left in her.
She had caught the tail end of his nightmare and realized at once his
fever had gone up. "Shh, it's okay. I'm right here. Shh." She stroked
his hair gently, wiping the sweat from his forehead until he opened
his eyes and saw her, a forced smile on her lips. "You were having a
nightmare," she whispered. "It's okay. How do you feel?"
"Been...better..." he coughed, gritting his teeth to prevent from
screaming. Scully held him tightly, feeling a chill go down her spine
when she felt him shiver underneath her arms. She wrapped the blanket
Tenille had left behind tightly around him, ignoring the fact that it
was soaking wet.
"I'm...cold...Scully," Mulder rasped and it was all she could do to
keep from crying. From experience she knew Mulder would have to be
near death before he complained to her about anything. She moved in
closer, hoping to provide some warmth while acknowledging the sheer
futility of the effort. They were both soaking wet and cold.
Scully looked up to the blackened sky for answers, for hope. Now what,
Dixie, she said to herself. He's burning up, he's got chills. I don't
think he can hold on much longer.
"Find some peppermint, child," Dana heard Dixie's reassuring voice and
it made her cry. "Cayenne pepper plant'll work with the chills too,
but it might bring on more aggravation than that one's worth.
Peppermint'll help with the fever too, as will mayapples." Before Dana
could speak, before she could express any fears, Dixie spoke again.
"Don't be scared, child. I'll guide you. You just tell your man you'll
be right back and come with me. I won't steer you wrong."
Dana looked at Mulder. His breathing was erratic, but at least he was
able to catch deeper breaths since getting rid of all the phlegm that
had been clogging his lungs. But the pain in his ribs had only
intensified with the coughing and he was clearly in distress. And now,
every time he shivered his ribs moved, adding to his overall
discomfort. "Mulder, I'll be right back. I need to find something for
your fever. For the cold," she whispered in his ear.
She felt his hand on hers, with a grip she was sure he didn't have the
strength for.
"No," he said, eyes barely open. "Too...windy...you'll
get....hurt...I'm...okay." But his body betrayed him and he started to
cough again.
"Here," Scully said, bringing what little water was left up to his
lips. "Drink this." He drank slowly, savoring every drop, and when he
was finished he found a piece of cherry bark in his mouth. "Now chew
on this," she said sweetly but firmly. "It helped with your cough
earlier."
Mulder attempted a smile and settled for a pathetic expression of
gratitude. At least he hoped that's how she saw it. "Scully..." He
took the bark out of his mouth. "Sorry...about....all this."
"It's not your fault, Mulder. You were just doing your job. Who knew
John Jacobs was insane?"
"I...should've...known..." he coughed again and immediately started
chewing on the bark, before Scully could say anything.
"There was no way of knowing, Mulder." Scully reassured him gently.
"Now sit still and I'll be right back."
Before he could protest, before he could stop her, she disappeared
from the rocks and was out of his sight. Mulder laid his head back and
closed his eyes. Speaking, breathing, thinking, staying conscious in
general was taking more effort than he had in him. Reflecting on his
life with Dana and their future as a family was the only thing keeping
him alive. But even those thoughts were losing their grasp on him.
"Don't let go, Fox."
"Melissa?"
"Yes, it's me. Dad wanted to come but I convinced him I should do it,
since you never met him and he can be pretty intimidating on a first
run." Melissa was on the ground beside him, trying to secure the
blanket around his still body. "This thing's useless," she muttered.
"It's soaking wet."
"Don't...tell...Scully," Mulder mused.
"Hey, I'm really proud of my little sister. She's taken to this
backwoods doctoring pretty well."
"She...had a good...teacher."
"Yeah," Melissa smiled. "Dixie's a hoot. I think dad's taken a shining
to her."
"What?" Even for Mulder, Melissa was sometimes way out there.
"Made you think," Melissa replied mischievously. "Dixie's too happy to
be with Jeremiah to notice anyone else right now. But she did find me
and send me here. She would've come herself except she's busy helping
Dana take care of you. She's even got Jeremiah working." Mulder raised
his eyebrows. "She sent him off to guide Bob and Tenille. You might be
here long enough to see a change of seasons if those two were left on
their own to find help."
Mulder coughed hard and Melissa held him tightly, just as her sister
had done not so long ago. When he had caught his breath, he looked up
at her, his eyes glassy with fever. "Melissa...I..."
"I know," she whispered. "It hurts. And if you give up the pain will
go away. But please believe me when I tell you your baby girl is worth
everything you're going through to survive. She's beautiful, Fox. You
don't want to miss her."
"I'll...try..." he gasped, using all his strength to bring the cherry
bark back up to his mouth. "But..."
"But nothing," Melissa replied sternly. "You'd have no fun with us,
Fox. There are no mysteries up there. Everything's solved. You'd go
crazy playing Parcheesi with dad all day."
Mulder smiled. The first smile he had managed in a long time.
"Oh...no...not...Parcheesi."
Melissa stood up and kissed the top of his head. "I hear the dice
now," she smiled. "Hang in there, Fox. Dana would make a lousy single
mother." With that she was gone, leaving Mulder feeling warmer than he
had in a very long time.
Outside the compound
2:15 P.M.
"Hey hotshot," Spencer Thornley could barely hold back a smirk when he
entered the tent in search of Walter Skinner. The last 72 hours had
been hell, but being able to volley snide remarks back and forth with
his old friend and colleague had at least alleviated some of the
tension. This time, he really had some ammunition.
At the sight of Skinner, still hunched over the makeshift table,
poring over the same maps he had been staring at for 24 hours, he
almost held back, but in the end he decided they both could use some
ribbing. "Your shipment's arrived," he said.
"Oh good," Skinner said, standing up slowly, the metal chair he had
been sitting on most of the night reminding him he wasn't as young as
he used to be. "Where is it?"
"*They*, good buddy," Thornley answered with amusement. "Where are
they?"
Skinner raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean they? I only ordered
one."
Thornley laughed. "That's so like you, Walter. You decide you want to
have some fun, go four wheelin' in the rain and you don't want to
share your toys. That's why I got my own. Now we don't have to share."
Skinner smiled, in spite of himself. "What the hell do you know about
all-terrain vehicles, Spence? From the looks of you the last thing you
sat on for any length of time was a stool at the lunch counter in the
commissary."
"All I know is I want you in front," Thornley said, leading the way
outside. "In this storm it's hard to tell if it's day or night. I'll
need that beacon at the top of your head to light the way."
Once outside the tent the sight of the armed agents posted everywhere
rapidly brought both men to reality. That and the storm, which had
quickly escalated to near hurricane status and had turned the ground
to sludge in some parts and small rivers in others. The clapboard
building that was the compound was no longer visible from where they
stood.
"Where are they?" Skinner asked, planting his feet firmly in the
ground to avoid being swept away. His actions made him think of Agent
Scully, a very small woman, caught somewhere beyond his reach in this
howling nightmare.
"Around back," Thornley replied, waiting for his friend to catch up to
him. "You have a plan?"
Before Skinner could answer, both men were struck by the sight of the
two pick-up trucks that had been commandeered to deliver the
all-terrain vehicles to this part of the world. A part of the world
generally difficult to get to, but near impossible in the middle of
the worst storm in a decade. The trucks were easily three feet off the
ground, with tires bigger than any the two officers had ever seen.
The two drivers were about as big as their trucks and were having a
hell of a time getting the first vehicle down the ramp. Skinner and
Thornley wasted no time in helping the men with the three wheel
vehicles.
It took some maneuvering, mostly because everything around them was
slippery, but eventually the four men managed to get both vehicles off
the trucks and onto the ground.
"Who's going to be driving these?" asked one of the truckers.
"We are," Thornley answered, before Skinner could bat an eye.
The truckers looked at the two men in front of them suspiciously,
obviously surprised at the response, but quickly ignored whatever they
were thinking and began giving instructions.
"These are the most powerful ATV's made," the first trucker continued.
They'll get you where you're going, even in this kind of weather and
terrain, but you need to know what you're doing or you can easily get
yourself killed."
Skinner nodded, unsure of what he intended to do now that
transportation had arrived. He had hoped by the time the vehicle got
there he would have come up with a plan, a way to locate his agents,
but no such plan had evolved. He was no closer to finding his two
agents now than he had been yesterday, when the weather was complying
and he could see ten feet in front of him. He sighed quietly,
listening intently to the trucker's instructions. This ATV seemed a
lot bigger than the one he had crashed back in high school.
Montana Woods
3:05 P.M.
Tenille thought her words were coming back to haunt her. "Until we die
trying," she heard herself telling Bob. How long ago had that been?
Five minutes or ten hours? She had no idea. And frankly, she no longer
cared. The events of the last three days, not to mention the last five
weeks, had taken their toll. The previous ten hours, fighting the
cold, the hail and the mud, had nearly broken what reserve she had
left. It was only her promise to Dana, the promise that they would
return with help, on Dixie's life, that had gotten her this far.
Bob had said very little in the last few hours and she knew he too was
operating on pure adrenaline. He held his left arm close to his chest
and she could only assume he had done some serious damage to it when
he fell. She had stopped asking him about it hours ago, cringing
slightly whenever he stumbled and she saw him grit his teeth in pain.
She had questioned Bob only once, when she felt they were headed in an
odd direction, and his answer had kept her quiet throughout the rest
of the ordeal. "Somethin's tellin' me this is the right way," he had
said. "I can't explain it. You'll just have to trust me."
She heard Bob swear under his breath and her contemplations ended
abruptly. "What is...Oh my God..." The hail and the wind were so
fierce, neither one had noticed the back of the compound until they
were a mere 20 feet away from it. "We found it, Bob. We did it. We
found it." Tenille couldn't contain herself, she was so elated. She
threw her arms around Bob and gave him a hug. Bob hugged her back with
his good arm, at the same time searching the area for the armed guards
he knew would be posted everywhere. Tenille let go when she noticed
his body tense. "What is it?" she whispered.
"There's a couple of guards up yonder," he whispered. "Over there on
the right."
"You go back Bob," Tenille said bravely. "You hide until you can get
away. I'll go talk to them."
Bob didn't hesitate with his answer. "You listen to me, woman. You may
have a way with me that I didn't think was possible up until now, but
if you think I come all this way to see you walk away from me, while I
go runnin' with my tail between my legs, well...you got another think
comin'."
"But Bob..." Tenille was touched. "They're likely to throw you in
jail. They won't do anything to me."
"Let's go, woman," Bob said, taking her hand and pulling her with him.
"We're in this together."
They made their way to the guard closest to them, both of them
throwing their hands up in the air when the agent finally saw them and
pointed his rifle directly at them. The sudden movement didn't help
Bob's shoulder, but he kept his hands up just the same.
"Who are you?" shouted the agent.
"Farrell. My name is Bob Farrell. And this here is Tenille Harris. We
have information on the two FBI agents that are missing."
The agent looked at them dubiously. He couldn't remember ever seeing
anyone more filthy and ragged. They had obviously been to hell and
back. "What kind of information?" he finally asked.
"We know where they are," Tenille chimed in. "Well, sort of," she
added, realizing she would be hard pressed to pinpoint the exact steps
they took to get to the compound.
The agent took a compact radio out of his raincoat's pocket and
pressed a button before speaking. "Thornley," he said. "Come in
Thornley."
After a moment Thornley's voice cut through the static. "Yeah, this is
Thornley."
"Sir, this is Agent Broward. I'm standing guard behind the compound
and I've got two people in front of me that say they know where the
missing FBI agents are."
"What?" Thornley was on his feet, with Skinner immediately at his
side. "Who are they?"
"A man and a woman, sir," the agent answered. "Say their names are Bob
Farrell and Tenille Harris."
Thornley and Skinner both recognized the names as those they had seen
on a list of people inside the compound. "Bring them in," Thornley
shouted, praying that it wasn't too late to help Mulder and Scully.
Skinner was outside instantly, pacing back and forth until he could
see Bob and Tenille emerge from the storm, Agent Broward holding his
rifle to their backs. He was at their side in no time, briefly
introducing himself and then prodding them with questions, forcing
himself to ignore their appearance. He didn't want to feel anything
for these people, certainly nothing that would cloud his judgment.
"Where are Agents Mulder and Scully?" Was the first thing he asked.
"They're sheltered in a pile of rocks, a few miles from here," Bob
replied.
"Are they alive?" Skinner wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.
"Yes," Bob answered hesitantly, unable to elaborate.
"Are they hurt?" Skinner was losing his patience. He wanted all the
answers and he wanted them now.
"The man is hurt," Tenille answered, sparing Bob the gruesome details.
"He's hurt...pretty badly."
They had reached the tent and Skinner led them inside, motioning to
Agent Broward to stay outside and stand guard.
"How badly?" Thornley asked. "What are his injuries?"
Tenille answered again. "John beat him pretty bad. Several times. He
burnt his hand. In the beginning I think I heard he had a concussion
and some broken ribs. I, um..." she hesitated, trying to think of what
both Dixie and Dana had told her and what she had overheard. "I think
he has a lot of broken ribs and Dana said he had pneumonia. He had a
fever when we left and was having a hard time breathing."
Skinner cringed. "What about Agent Scully?"
"She's okay," Tenille answered, "but she's afraid he's dyin'. He needs
to get to a hospital."
"Where's the rest of your group?" Thornley asked. "And what made you
two come back?"
"We came back to get help for the FBI agents," Tenille said defiantly,
meeting Thornley's stare.
"Why?"
"Because John went insane," Bob answered evenly. "Because those two
agents didn't deserve what they got." Because he killed Dixie, he said
to himself.
"You still haven't answered my question," Thornley continued. "Where's
the rest of the Brotherhood?"
Bob and Tenille quickly explained the events of the last three days,
ending with Jacobs' death and the scattering of the Brotherhood.
"Can you lead us to them?" Skinner asked, anxious to get going.
"I think so," Bob said, wincing when he accidentally swung his
shoulder.
"What's the matter with your arm?" Skinner asked, relaxing a little.
He had realized during their brief conversation that Bob and Tenille
had not only risked their lives getting help for his two agents, but
were prepared to do it again.
"Nothing," Bob answered stoically.
Or stupidly, as Tenille saw it. "He fell down a hill," she
volunteered. "I think it's hurt pretty bad."
Bob glared at her, but softened a bit when he saw the expression of
concern on her face. Even covered in mud she was the most beautiful
thing he had ever seen.
"Spence, can you get one of the medics in here. Have him bring his
case in. He can help us figure out what we need to get out to Mulder
and Scully while he takes a look at Bob's shoulder."
Spencer Thornley nodded and headed out in search of a paramedic. I
guess I'm going to get a chance to try out that ATV after all, he
mused. Not quite sure if the nerves he was feeling were eager
anticipation or trepidation.
***********
Bob had dislocated his shoulder in the fall and the paramedic was able
to put the bone back in the socket in no time. The young man was able
to contain himself while the excruciating procedure was taking place,
but slumped into a chair, in a cold sweat, the instant the paramedic
let go of him. "I can give you a shot for the pain" the paramedic
said, "but it's bound to knock you out."
"No," Bob answered quickly. "I need to stay awake. I'm fine."
Tenille sat by his side, holding his hand, while Skinner and Thornley
relayed Mulder's injuries and how he got them to the paramedic.
"It sounds like you'll need a respirator," the paramedic was saying,
"and some heavy duty antibiotics. He's probably dehydrated, so I'll
give you something for that. If he was beaten that severely he might
be bleeding internally too." The paramedic paused. "Will either of you
know what to do with all this stuff once you get to him?"
Skinner and Thornley shook their heads. "No," Skinner answered, "but
Agent Scully will."
"Why don't I come with you. I'm trained in emergency medicine and
based on these injuries it doesn't sound like he's got a lot of time."
Thornley spoke first. "It's a dangerous mission, son. A.D. Skinner and
I aren't prepared to risk anyone else's life on this."
"I'm prepared to take the risk, Sir," the young paramedic answered. "I
would hope someone would do the same for me if I ever needed it."
Thornley looked at Skinner. They had already had an argument with Bob
and Tenille over the fact that they refused to lead them to Mulder and
Scully unless they stayed together. And it was obvious Walter Skinner
would not be willing to stay behind. He would sooner walk to the
agents than stay put for another minute.
"Can you ride an all-terrain vehicle, son?"
"Can't grow up in Montana and not know how to ride one, Sir." the
paramedic answered with a smile.
"Okay then," Thornley agreed. "You take my place. Just keep me
informed of your whereabouts at all times. A.D. Skinner will be
carrying a radar beacon that'll enable us to track him at all times.
And a radio in case he needs to relay anything back to us. With that
we'll be able to send a helicopter to your location as soon as the
weather permits."
Skinner turned to Bob and Tenille. "Ready?"
They both stood up and nodded. Tenille was praying silently. Praying
that whatever had guided Bob to the compound was still around to guide
him in the other direction.
6:20 P.M.
Montana Woods
12 miles from the Canadian border
Scully felt Mulder's forehead for the tenth time. It had been a couple
of hours since his fever had broken, but she didn't trust the
peppermint to work miracles. Or to keep it down indefinitely.
"How...am I...doing?" Mulder asked, startling her.
"I thought you were asleep," she answered, moving a little closer to
him and letting his head rest on her chest.
"Who can...sleep...with...Marcus....Welby by his...side." Mulder
settled back and tried to catch his breath.
"Very funny. Marcus Welby would have drugged you into submission by
now."
"Oooh. Scully...I thought...you'd...never...ask."
"Not tonight honey, you have a headache."
Mulder tried to laugh but instead found himself coughing. "I'd
forgotten....I had...a....headache."
"Shh. Stop talking and try and rest. The cavalry should be here soon."
Scully's concern was growing with every passing minute. It had been
nearly 12 hours since Bob and Tenille had left in search of help and
there was still no sign of a rescue effort. To complicate matters the
storm was still raging all around them and in her heart of hearts she
knew no helicopter would be sent in to rescue them in this weather.
There had been a lot of turns when they were walking in the mine and
she had guessed by the time they came out they weren't that far from
the compound. But what if Bob and Tenille had gotten lost? What if
they were walking in circles? What if they had changed their minds and
headed to Canada after all? Mulder felt her shivering.
"Scully...you...okay?"
"I'm fine, Mulder. Just a little cold."
"You think...Bob...and Tenille...changed...their minds?"
How did he do it? How did he always know what she was thinking? "What
are you, psychic?" Scully thought of lying, but realized it would do
neither one any good. There was only so much weight she could carry
and the pressure was starting to take its toll.
Mulder shifted his position so he could look at her, immediately
regretting the action. The effort to move required more strength than
he had and he found himself gasping for air. The pain in his lower
back was excruciating and forced him to close his eyes tightly in an
attempt to make it go away.
"Mulder? Mulder what's wrong?" Scully was in front of him, one hand
on his shoulder, one on his face.
"My...back...." he gasped, clenching his jaw against the pain.
"Your lower back, where you showed me earlier?" Scully could barely
hide the panic from her voice.
Mulder nodded. The pain had been building for hours and although he
had managed to keep it from Scully, this last exertion left him
virtually paralyzed, unable to hide anything from her. Worrying about
Scully and her emotional well-being only added to his distress level,
until he felt himself slipping away from her. Away from the rain and
the cold. Away from the pain. He felt his body relax under her touch
and forced himself to open his eyes, to look at her one last time.
"Mulder, talk to me. Don't leave me here. Fox, please, hold on."
Scully had felt his body go limp, the tension that had kept him alive
slowly releasing him. She was in a frenzy, her terror beyond
comprehension, as she shouted words he couldn't hear.
Mulder could see Scully, see her lips moving, but he no longer wanted
to hear what she was saying. He wanted to tell her that he loved her,
but he couldn't make his mouth form the words. His lids grew heavy,
his eyes started to close, but they were jolted open by a hard slap
across his face.
"Mulder, damnit, don't do this. Help is on the way." Hysteria was
taking over and Scully found herself sobbing uncontrollably as she
spoke.
"Fox, she's right. Help is on the way. Closer than you think." He felt
Melissa's presence but couldn't see her."
"Hurts...too...much...Me...li....ssa..."
"What?" Scully was shaken to her core. She felt a chill and looked
around. Was Mulder talking to her sister? Was Missy there to help? To
keep him alive? Her sense of calm was shortlived. When she looked back
at Mulder his eyes were closed and she realized he had given up.
12 Miles from the Canadian Border
6:45 pm
"No, son, you don't want to do this," a strong hand on his
shoulder forced Mulder to turn around. Before him stood an
older man, nearing 60, but with eyes that looked much younger.
His receding hairline left only a fringe of grey around his head,
but when Mulder looked closely, he could still see a hint of red
there. Still, it was the man's eyes that struck Mulder the most--
they were the same eyes he had just looked into, the ones he
searched for a thousand times a day. They were the eyes of his
wife.
"Captain Scully?" Mulder asked. He had never met Dana's
father, had only seen a few candid pictures that Dana had on the
mantel in their apartment, but this was definitely the partriarch of
the Scully clan. His very bearing spoke of his years at sea, the
men he had commanded, the risks he had taken and won.
"Son, Fox, you don't want to leave her. I know. I didn't
want to leave my Maggie and we had a much longer time
together than you two." Bill Scully wouldn't let go of his
shoulder, so Mulder put his hand on the other man's arm.
"But even you have to admit that you didn't have a choice,
sir," Mulder said sadly. "I don't want to leave her. I'll never
want to be anywhere but right beside her. But I can't hold out
any longer. I'm tired. I'm hurt. There's nothing that is my
choice here. I just don't have the strength."
"Let me show you something that might give you a little help
in the strength department, Fox," Bill said with a gleam in his
eye. "Follow me."
Mulder didn't think they had walked more than a few feet, but
he saw they were now in a yard. The backyard to a house. It
had a large sycamore tree to the left, and an oak tree to the far
right. Near the house were magnolia and dogwood with a small
rose garden bordering a patio deck. In the center of the yard was
a large wooden jungle gym complete with two swings and a
circular slide. Three children, two boys and a girl, were playing
happily on the swings and slide.
The children were shouting at each other. Mulder listened
closely and heard their names, Meggie, Willie and Sam. They
were fighting over who was their parent's favorite.
"Meggie is Dad's favorite," the older of the two boys said
with a sneer. "He lets her get by with *anything*!"
"Not true, Will-i-am," the little girl drawled out her brother's
name in a taunt. "Besides, Sammy is Mommie's little angel. He
never gets in trouble!"
"Am not!" said the youngest boy, all of about 4 years of age.
"Mommy loves us all. She says so when she kisses us 'night."
That seemed to be all the evidence needed to support his claim.
"But Meggie is still Daddy's favorite," Willie said with a
triumphant smile. "It's a complexion."
"That's 'complex' you doof," Maggie jeered. Now that he was
looking closer, Mulder figured the girl was about 9. "And no it's
not. Daddy loves us all. He always has. That's why he comes
home to us every night. 'Cause he loves us and wants to be with
us."
Mulder's heart ached. Something inside him told him who
these children were. They were his, his children. He wanted so
much to run to them, take them in his arms. But then, he
realized that unless he survived, he would never see this bright
young girl, and the two boys would never even come to be. He
closed his eyes against the pain at his loss.
"You want to go back, don't you, son?" Bill asked. Mulder
couldn't speak, he could only nod.
"Then fight a little harder. You have it in you, Fox. Just fight
a little harder. I know you can do it," the older man smiled and
shrugged. "Starbuck wouldn't have given you a second look if
you were a quitter."
************************************
7:00 pm
Dana was sobbing so hard, all the while trying to keep up the
rhythm of CPR, that she didn't hear the all terrain vehicles
making their way through the forest. It wasn't until she felt a
small hand on her shoulder that she even knew anyone was near
her. She looked up and into Tenille's face.
"He's gone," she sobbed and started to go back to her fight to
bring him back to her. Tenille gripped her shoulders and pulled
her away, leaving room for the paramedic to take over. He went
to work immediately, frantically taking up the efforts that Dana
had already begun.
"Agent Scully, here," Skinner said gently, enfolding her in a
woolen blanket. He could see her shivering and noticed that her
lips were tinted blue. "You don't want to catch . . ." He stopped
himself from going any further with that train of thought. At that
moment, he had no doubt that Dana Scully couldn't have cared
less for what might or might not happen to herself. All her
thoughts were on her husband.
After what seemed like an eternity, the paramedic jumped
back, searching through his bag. "I got a pulse, and some pretty
faint breath sounds. Now, we gotta get him back pronto, before
we lose him for real," he spat out to Skinner.
"He's bleeding internally, his right kidney," Scully said,
instantly moving over to help the paramedic. "And he has a
concussion. Pneumonia's been a problem for a couple of days.
I've been treating with, ah, some local remedies," she said, not
expounding on what those 'rememdies' might be. Now that there
was something to do, she shoved all emotions to the back of her
mind and became the professional again. "How are you going to
transport? Chopper?"
The paramedic and Skinner both looked at the sky. Although
the rain had slowed somewhat in the last 15 minutes, the wind
was not abating at all. The two men exchanged dubious looks.
"I don't think so, Agent Scully," Skinner said steadily.
"Well, we sure as hell aren't *walking* him out of here," she
said with disgust.
"Hold up, let me see if the cavalry can get here,"
Skinner said, pulling out the radio he had hastily clipped to his
belt before taking off on the ATV. "Spence. This is Walt. We
need an evac. I repeat, we need an evac. Do you read me?
Over."
There was static as he pushed the button and all four
conscious people held their breath collectively. Then a voice
burst through the static.
"Walt! We're here, buddy! And it looks like it's lettin' up
toward the west. We're down to a drizzle here. I got a chopper
fired up and ready. Just give us your location and we'll be there
in a jiffy." Skinner smiled as he heard the three others with him
start breathing again.
It took the chopper just 20 minutes to be at their location.
Mulder was loaded on a stokes and placed in the chopper to be
delivered to the nearest hospital. There was just enough room
for Dana and the paramedic to come along. That left Skinner,
Tenille and Bob to take the ATV's back to the compound.
Thanks to the let up in the rain, they were able to push through
to the compound in a little over an hour and a half. Once there,
Skinner handed Tenille and Bob over to Spence Thornley,
grabbed the first available rental car and took off for the hospital,
over forty miles away by back country roads.
Sawyer County Medical Center
2:14 am
After much argument, Skinner and two nurses had
convinced Dana to change into dry clothes and a blanket was
now wrapped around her shoulders. Even in the warmth of the
small hospital, she still couldn't get warm.
A bowl of soup sat on the table between chairs in the waiting
area, having gone cold without being touched. A cup of coffee,
light, no sugar, was full except for the three sips Dana had taken
before sitting it down and forgetting it existed. Mulder had been
taken into surgery almost immediately upon his arrival and had
been there for nearly five hours. The floor wax was showing signs of
wear from her pacing.
"Sweetheart. Dana, how are you?" Maggie greeted her as
she took her into a big hug.
"Not so good, Mom," Dana said and finally let the tears fall.
"Fox. He's . . ."
Maggie held her as Dana sobbed against her shoulder. "He's
made it through before, sweetie. He's not going to give up on
you, now. Besides, we're going to give him all the reasons we
can to come back to us." She steered Dana over to a chair and
sat down next to her. "I have something I want you two to look
at when we get you back home to DC."
*********************
5:00 pm
Dana had been curled up in the chair so long that her back
was hurting. There was an empty bed just on the other side of
his bed, but she didn't want to go even that far away from him
before he woke up. So she squirmed a little and tried
unsuccessully to get comfortable.
The combined efforts of her mother and the Assistant
Director had forced her into a 6 hour slumber after Mulder was
moved to recovery. When she woke up, he was settled in his
own room and she had been there ever since.
She wiggled and tried to settle once again. A strange flutter
hit her stomach. It was almost unnoticeable--if it had not been
such a distraction from her discomfort. When it hit her a second
time, she put her hand to her stomach. It felt funny. Like the
flutter of wings on glass. "Butterfly wings," she said a loud,
without realizing. She remembered a talk she'd had with her
mother just a week or so before, after her monthly visit to the
obstetrician. Finally, a knowing smile graced her lips and she bit
her lip at the wonder of the experience.
Beside her, the man lying so quietly on the white hospital bed
moved and groaned softly. She reached over and took his hand
in her own, smiling expectantly at his face. "Hey, sleepy head.
Time to wake up. She watched as his eyelids fluttered slightly,
but stubbornly refused to open.
"C'mon, wake up, Fox. I have news," she said, tempting him
to look at her.
Mulder took a deep breath, then regretted the action. He
hurt, all over. Even through the dull fog of pain killers, he was
still very sore, from his ribs, his lungs, his arm and his back. He
was almost afraid to wonder how long he would be hooked up to
IV's this time. It had definitely been a close one. But there was
a very good reason why he had come back and she was
squeezing his hand, insisting that he open his eyes.
He opened his left eye, it was blurry. He opened his right eye
and discovered that, although it was clearer, his vison was still
hazy. "News?" he croaked. He swallowed, but found there was
no moisture in his mouth. Instinctively, Dana raised the water
glass and drinking straw next to his lips and he drank, then
nodded when he was finished.
"Sure enough," she said with a smile. "Here, give me your
hand, maybe you can feel it." She took his left hand, the one
without the IV and stood up so that he could place it on her
stomach. She pressed it firmly in place with her own.
It took some concentration, and he had no idea what she was
trying to get him to feel. Finally, he detected something.
"You're hungry," he whispered in a raspy voice.
"No way, Jose. Mom and Skinner have been bringing me
food for hours. I'm not hungry."
He closed his eyes and concentrated harder on the feeling of
her warm stomach against his hand. There, he felt something.
"Then you have gas," he reasoned, a little confused by her
behavior. He was used to having her there when he woke up in
hospitals, but she usually didn't act so strange.
"There, feel that?" she asked excitedly. He seemed confused,
but nodded, then shrugged. "That, you dear man, is your baby
daughter," she said with a loving smile. "I felt her move, Fox.
Just now. When you were waking up. I think she's trying to get
your attention," she added, tears glistening in her eyes.
"I knew there was a reason to live," he said as a single tear
slid down his cheek. "Much better than a video, Scully. Thank
you."
Sawyer County Medical Center
two days later
Mulder was shaking his head fiercely. "That's not what I said,
sir. I didn't say the Indians burned the compound. I said the
*spirits* did." He was emphatic. And he was convinced he was
right.
The Assistant Director of the FBI looked woefully at his
agent. "Well, I'm sorry, Agent Mulder, but I won't accept that in
your report. We've had arson teams go over that compound with
a fine tooth comb. We might not be able to determine the cause,
but it's obvious that John Jacobs followers are likely to want to
torch the place. I mean, after all, their leader is gone, what use
do they have for it?"
Mulder crossed his arms and winced when he hit the bandages
still covering his burns. "Fine. Think what you want. The place
is in ashes and if everybody is smart, they'll leave the place alone
in the future. It's better left undisturbed." He shifted and then
took on a less combative stance. "Did you have any one go look
for Dixie?"
"To be perfectly honest with you, Agent Mulder, we have
been more concerned with rounding up the few remaining 'living'
members of the Yeoman Brotherhood. We did find a mine
entrance, but there was no *body* in the vicinity. Of course, it
might not have been the same mine entrance you were at."
thought Mulder. He had already decided that
he was going to go back and look for her the minute his
doctor/wife let him.
"Speaking of which, what's going to happen to Tenille and
Bob? They saved my life, you know," Mulder said pointedly.
Skinner nodded. "I'm well aware of that fact, Mulder. And
Agent Scully has already made a formal statement to that effect.
I'm sure the judge will take that into consideration when he hears
their cases. The fact that Bob is willing to testify to exactly what
Jacobs was doing in there will go a long way to help his cause. I
see very little jail time for him, none at all for Tenille. For that
matter, I think Bob has plans."
"Plans?" Mulder asked.
"Yeah, career plans from the sound of it. I overheard him
asking questions of the EMT that helped bring you out of the
forest. Apparently, the young man sort of enjoyed all this search
and rescue activity. With his survival knowledge and his natural
abilities, he would be perfect for the job. With the proper
training, of course," Skinner added.
"We wouldn't know of anyone that might help him out on the
score?" Mulder asked, half jokingly. He had been pretty much
out of it, but at one point, when Bob and Tenille had snuck in to
visit, Tenille had mentioned how helpful Agent Thornley had
been to them since they had arrived back at the compound,
finding them shelter and clothing, taking their statements. Even
Bob had seemed grateful for his assistance, quite a step for a
young man who had spent the last several years dispising his
government.
"Spence seems to have taken them under his wing, you're
right on that one," Skinner assured him. He got up to leave,
looking down at the prone young man before him. "Agent Scully
tells me you'll be able to leave here in four or five days. But I've
spoken to your doctor and you're on medical leave for a month
to six weeks. At the rate your going, Mulder, you are going to
have to live to be 100 to make up all your sick days."
"I've figured that out, sir. I've decided that Dana and I are
going to enlist all our kids in the academy and I'll just use their
sick days. They're not going to get banged up as much as I do.
Hopefully they'll have their mother's good sense."
"*All* the kids, Mulder? More than the one I know about?"
Skinner asked.
Mulder grinned a Cheshire Cat grin. "Three of 'em, sir. One
girl, and two boys. And watch out for Sam, the youngest. I
have a feeling he's going to be a handful."
'With one half your genes in him, I have no doubt of that,
Mulder. None at all."
BWI Airport
a week after their rescue
Maggie waved at them as they departed the gangway. They
were moving slowly, in deference to Mulder's pace and the cane
that he was leaning on heavily, but they both looked happy to be
home. Maggie swept them into a hug and kissed them both
before taking Dana's hand and leading them through the airport
to her car. Their luggage had flown out earlier so they avoided
the baggage claim area.
Mulder sighed as he lowered himself into the car seat. He
was still sore, and had been told to take it easy for a while, but he
was feeling better than he had in a long time.
"Are you all right, Fox? Do you need a pillow to support
your back?" Maggie asked him with concern.
"No, thanks, Mom. I'm fine. Now, what was this surprise
you kept talking about all the time you were out with us in
Montana?" he asked, catching Dana's smile in the rearview
mirror.
"Yeah, Mom," Dana chirped in. "You promised to tell us
when we got back. What is it? Bill Jr. and Karen expecting
again?"
Maggie laughed. "No, sweetheart. Nothing like that. Only
one little grandbaby in my immediate future, at least that I know
of . But I would love to show you my surprise, if you are up for
a drive."
Dana put her hand on Mulder's shoulder and he shrugged in
approval. "We're game," Dana said and settled back to enjoy the
scenery.
49th Street, NW, Washington, DC
Just one block from Tenley Circle
Maggie pulled up in front of the two story house. A 'for sale'
sign stood in the yard. Smiling, she ushered the couple up to the
front door and produced a key from her purse. She opened the
door and let them in.
The door led to a hallway, with a staircase leading to the
second floor to the left. To the back, they could see a formal
dining room and into a large, eat-in kitchen. Off to the right,
through a large archway, was the living room complete with a
big bay window that let in the late afternoon sun. Dana walked
through the hall and opened a closet in the dining room. It was
nice and spacious, recently outfitted with a closet organizer unit.
On the opposite wall, between a second archway to the living
room and the hall, was another closet.
"Lots of closet space," she said to Mulder. His eyes twinkled
merrily.
He stepped into the kitchen and opened a door to the left of
the windowed back door. It was a pantry and laundry room.
"Lots and lots of closet space," he shouted back and heard her
laughter ring against the bare walls. It was a wonderful sound.
"Let me show you the upstairs," Maggie said with a huge
grin.
At the top of the stairs was a full bath, done in reds, blacks
and whites. The club footed tub had been renovated to enclose a
shower head. There was a small, built in linen pantry behind the
door.
Turning to the right, and going to the front of the house,
there was a good sized bedroom with windows that looked out
on the front yard and the side. Directly across the hall from the
bathroom was a slightly smaller bedroom with another bay
window, this one with a window seat. To the back of the house
was the master bedroom with a bathroom containing two sinks.
All three bedrooms contained walkin closets.
"I love it," Dana sighed. "Mom, it's perfect. But what are
they asking?"
"I already thought of that, sweetie. I asked the realtor.
They're only asking 2 thousand over your target price and she
thought they might go lower. Seems like the owners are
transferring out of state and need to get this one sold before they
can buy their next home."
"Mulder, what do you think?" Dana asked. When she got no
reply, she looked behind her and saw that he was nowhere in the
room. "Mulder?" she called and searched the top floor, then
through the first floor. Finally, she went out the backdoor and
found him standing on the deck, admiring the roses planted
around it. "Mulder? I asked you what you think of the place. I
mean, it's only 2 over what we were thinking of. Of course, you
wanted 2 and a half baths . . ."
"I'll make an offer when we get back to the apartment,"
Mulder said confidently.
"Are you sure? Don't you think we ought to look around a
little first?" Dana asked, now not quite so sure she liked the look
in his eyes. It was like he knew something she didn't and that
bothered her.
"Nah, I'm done looking," he said cryptically. "The only thing
this place needs is a swing set." And with one glance at the
sycamore and the oak trees, he took his wife into a hug and
kissed her deeply. "It's just what I've always wanted," he sighed
when he released her. All Dana could do was smile.
The Montana Forest,
three weeks later
Dana rubbed her back and stretched. It was a beautiful
summer day, and she finally had a chance to view the area they
had been in just over a month before without the terror of that
moment clouding her vision. Mulder had made his usual rapid
recovery, which was good, considering that they would be
moving to the new house immediately upon their return from
Montana.
Logically, Dana knew that they probably would never find
Dixie's body. It had been six weeks since the murder and in the
wilds of Montana, any number of scavangers would have already
disposed of the old woman's body. The searchers had personally
assured both Mulder and her that they had found no trace of a
body near any mine entrance. All of these facts did nothing to
deter her husband from making the long journey to give his
'guardian angel' as he now called her, a proper funeral.
They had made the majority of the journey on ATV's, but the
last mile they had decided to walk, so that they didn't miss any
clues. Finally, Dana recognized the mine entrance and soon
found the boulder that Jacobs and thrown Dixie against. She
shut her eyes tight against the painful memories.
** None of that, child** a soft, sweet voice whispered in her
mind. **I'm happy, Dana. Make no mistake of that. I'm happy
and I'm at peace.**
Dana opened her eyes and smiled at the image of Dixie that
swam before her tear filled eyes. Then, in a blink, she saw them.
"Mulder. Look. Over there by the boulder." Moving
quickly, she got to the boulder almost before he had a chance to
see where she was pointing. She knelt down and reached out to
cup a small white flower in her hands. The tears were flowing
freely now, but she had a smile on her face.
"Lady slippers," Mulder said softly, kneeling beside his wife.
"You know the legend?" he asked, putting his arm around her
shoulder.
"Every Girl Scout knows that legend, Fox," she smiled at him.
"The Indian maiden who was so beloved of her tribe, but got sick
and died on the trail. They couldn't give her a proper burial, so
they vowed to return as soon as the winter broke. When they
came back in the spring, they didn't find the body. Just these
little white flowers, that looked like the slippers she wore on her
feet." She let a quiet sob escape her lips.
"Dixie was truly a 'lady'," Mulder said softly. "I never got the
chance to thank her for taking care of me."
Dana pulled him into an embrace, and felt his own tears wet
against her shoulder. "She knows, Fox. She knows. And she's
happy now. She's with Jeremiah."
He pulled back a little and wiped the tears from her cheeks,
but they were quickly replaced. He nodded, not having any
words, just expressing his agreement with his eyes. Together
they cried, sad for their loss, but happy that Dixie was where she
wanted to be.
the end.
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